


Death In Waiting

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Accusations, Alibis, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Forbidden Love, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Murder Mystery, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pregnancy, Protectiveness, References to War, Servants, Suspicions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1920's country house murder mystery AU. Porthos has gone to work as chauffeur for Lord Louis and Lady Anne Bourbon. At first life seems good, and he gets on well with his fellow staff - particularly the butler, Athos. But then his employers throw a weekend houseparty and tragedy strikes - and with the amount of intrigue and number of lies uncovered by Inspector Treville it seems that practically all of the guests and staff had both motive and opportunity. And the first death will not be the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Porthos du Vallon looked up through the heavy wrought iron gates at the imposing country house with a mingled sense of excitement and apprehension. He had been engaged as chauffeur, the lord of the manor having recently purchased his first motor car. Porthos was to be responsible for driving Lord Louis and his wife around as required, and also for maintaining the vehicle itself. 

Engaged via agency on the strength of his impeccable references, this was the first time he'd laid eyes on the place. Coming out of the Royal Army Service Corps after the war, for the past couple of years Porthos had worked as combined chauffeur and valet to a minor baronet in London. The position had suited him very well but unfortunately the man had recently taken up a position overseas in the diplomatic service, leaving Porthos out of a job and also out of a home. 

This position was live-in, which suited him immensely and he was used to being in service, but the house before him was far grander than anything he'd envisaged and he felt a twist of nerves. In London he felt reasonably comfortable, but out here in the home counties there was a much higher risk they might take exception to the colour of his skin.

There was a smaller gate set into the railings to the side, and Porthos let himself in through it. He had travelled up by train and then walked from the station, his old kit bag slung over one shoulder. At least from now on he'd be driving everywhere, he thought with a smile.

Gravel crunched underfoot as he walked up the curving drive, and he was just making for the porticoed main entrance when a man appeared through a gate into what seemed to be a walled garden with a basket of vegetables on his arm, and stared at Porthos in some surprise. "Can I help you?" he asked dubiously.

Heart sinking, Porthos nevertheless plastered on a hopeful smile. "Hello. Um - I'm the new chauffeur?"

"Oh! Oh right." The man made a face. "Christ, you don't want to be knocking on the front door then. Athos'll have your hide. Tradesmen round the back." He smirked. "As the butler said to the bishop."

Porthos gave a laugh, of relief as much as amusement, that the man seemed friendly. "I'm Porthos by the way," he offered, following him round the side of the building.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Aramis. Footman, valet, and apparently this morning glorified kitchen boy," he grinned, hefting the trug in illustration. “Forgive me if I don't shake hands, but Serge has managed to hand me the muddiest beetroots in Christendom and I'm lagged."

He lead Porthos in through a side entrance and down a narrow passage into what turned out to be the kitchen. A pretty young woman was working at the large pine table, floured to the elbows, and a young man with longish dark hair was sitting in a chair by the hearth, drinking a cup of tea. It all looked incredibly cosy and relaxed, and Porthos brightened immediately.

"Here you go Constance," Aramis announced, depositing the basket of produce on the table and retreating to the large ceramic sink in the corner to wash his hands. "With Serge's compliments, and enough mud to start growing your own."

Constance stared inquisitively first at Porthos and then at Aramis in search of an explanation. "How very enterprising. I only sent you out for veg," she smiled. "And you bring me back a man?"

Porthos grinned, liking her immediately. "Porthos du Vallon, ma'am," he said, touching his temple respectfully. 

"He's the new chauffeur," Aramis elaborated, and Porthos was conscious of every eye in the room suddenly inspecting him minutely. He cleared his throat.

"Should I be reporting to someone?"

Constance took in his heavy bag and dusty boots and took pity on him. "Sit down and have a cup of tea first, there's plenty of time. Athos'll take you up when you're ready. Where is he, anyway?" she looked round as if expecting the shadows to reveal another body.

"He was in with his Lordship when I came past the study window," supplied the boy by the fire. "I'm d'Artagnan by the way," he added, with a lazy wave that suggested he was far too comfortable where he was to get up and shake hands. "I look after the stables."

Constance wiped flour hastily off her hands and offered Porthos hers, seeing as the men around her were all falling short of polite protocol. "Constance Bonacieux," she said. "Housekeeper and cook."

Porthos shook her hand, feeling surprised. He'd had a mental image of all housekeepers as large and stern and elderly. Constance smiled, guessing his thoughts. 

"I came with Lady Anne as lady's maid when she married his Lordship. I guess I've sort of inherited roles as they became vacant." She looked faintly embarrassed. "Staff don't always tend to stay long here. Lord Louis can be a bit - taxing, as an employer." She looked round guiltily, as if she might be overheard. "The four of us are probably the longest serving out everyone he‘s had. Well, apart from Serge, but he's been here forever. He hides in his greenhouse, and stays out of the way."

"Four of you?" Porthos asked, only counting three. He sat down gratefully at the table and Constance poured both him and Aramis a cup of tea before going back to her pastry.

"Us three, and Athos," Aramis explained, sitting next to him and stealing a handful of raisins from a bowl before Constance could slap him away. "He's the butler. Word of advice, don't piss him off."

Porthos remembered Aramis saying that Athos would have torn a strip off him for calling at the front door, and winced. Maybe life wouldn't be quite so cosy here after all.

"Bit of a stickler is he?"

"He was in some hush-hush unit in the war," Aramis told him. "Refuses to talk about it, but he's definitely used to people following his orders if they know what's good for them, if you get my drift."

"Or it could just be that he's a naturally grumpy bastard," d'Artagnan called over, then added inconsequentially, "plus he's got a limp."

"A limp what?" Porthos asked, and was pleased when they all laughed. His moment of warmth was cut short a second later though, when a dry voice cut across the merriment from the doorway.

"Sad state of affairs when the youth of today can do nothing but mock those who were injured preserving their liberty."

D'Artagnan nearly upset his cup in alarm, and scrambled hastily to his feet. "Sorry sir. I didn't mean - " he stammered, "I was just - "

"Don't you have a horse to be interfering with?" Athos enquired acidly, and d'Artagnan scurried out of the door to a look of sympathetic amusement from Constance.

Porthos got hurriedly to his feet, regretting the fact he'd made such a poor introduction to himself. He looked up contritely, and was surprised to find that contrary to the crusty old major he'd been expecting, the man standing before him was not that much older than him, with bright, interrogative eyes and a rather handsome face.

"You must be the new chauffeur," Athos said, looking him up and down. 

"Yes sir. Porthos du Vallon, sir, reporting for duty." Porthos suppressed the instinctive urge to salute, suspecting Athos would think he was taking the piss.

"Just Athos is fine. There's no need to 'sir' me." Athos shook his hand firmly. "Finish your tea," he said, indicating with a tilt of his chin that Porthos should sit down again. "I'll take you up to his Lordship when you're ready."

"Thank you. And, um, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful, just now."

Athos eyed him with what might just have been a glimmer of amusement. "Glad to hear it."

"Will you have some tea, Athos?" Constance offered, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"No, thank you. At least some of us have work to be getting on with," Athos drawled pointedly and walked out again. Porthos studied him as he left and noted that d’Artagnan was right, there was a very slight limp to his gait, although nothing terribly pronounced.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Way to make a first impression, huh?"

"Don't mind Athos," Aramis reassured him. "His bark's worse than his bite."

"I think he liked you," Constance added. Porthos looked at her incredulously and she smiled. "No, really. Trust me, if he'd taken against you, you'd be under no illusions about it."

Porthos returned to his tea with rather a wide-eyed expression. So far things hadn't been quite what he was expecting, and he found he was mildly dreading his first meeting with Lord Louis. Still, he thought, if he could manage to avoid being openly rude about the man within his hearing, then at least he'd be doing better than he had with Athos. How bad could the man be?

With assistance from Constance, Porthos brushed the accumulated dust of the journey from his clothes and cleaned his boots back to something approximating a shine. They weren't quite as smart as he would have liked, but the walk up from the station had been a long one. To his embarrassment, she was dabbing at his face with a flannel when Athos walked back in. 

To his relief Athos made no comment, just raised an eloquent eyebrow. Porthos cleared his throat and ducked away from Constance's ministrations with a sheepish laugh.

"Why don't you show Porthos his room first?" Constance asked Athos. "Let him settle in and get changed, have a proper wash."

Porthos wondered with some concern if he looked dirtier than he'd imagined. It had been a tiring journey involving an omnibus and three separate trains, and he'd have given a lot for a decent bath right now. 

Athos hesitated. "I think it would be prudent to let his Lordship meet him first," he said quietly. Porthos suddenly realised with a cold shock that Athos meant he might yet be sent away again if for some reason Lord Louis felt his face didn't fit. And there was one very obvious reason why that might be the case.

"Are you ready?" Athos asked, and Porthos nodded, trying to project an air of confidence that he didn't really feel. He followed Athos out of the kitchen and through a warren of passages into the main hallway, then up an impressive flight of stairs to the first floor. 

Athos paused outside the study door, and looked at Porthos. "His Lordship can be a very - direct man," he said carefully. "He tends to say what he thinks, without necessarily - well. Thinking about it."

Porthos nodded, immediately understanding what Athos was trying to tactfully tell him. "You mean if he offers me a coconut, try not to punch him?" 

Athos pursed his lips tightly. Porthos thought for a second he'd taken offence, then realised he was trying not to laugh. Porthos smiled at him. "I'll be good," he promised. 

Athos sighed. "I can't promise he will be." He knocked on the door, and after waiting for the curt summons, lead Porthos inside.

It was a gorgeous room, all wood panelling and rows of glass-fronted bookcases. A south-facing bay window let floods of light into the centre of the room, where an impressive model ship was balanced on a polished oak table.

A man was standing next to it, fiddling with the rigging, and he looked up as they came in. Porthos got an impression of overly fussy clothes and a mouth with too many teeth.

"Ah, Athos, there you are. And this must be - " Lord Louis fell silent, his mouth still hanging open. 

"Porthos du Vallon, your Lordship," Athos supplied. "The chauffeur you sent for."

Louis finally managed to close his mouth. "Well. Yes. Indeed. Although I'm not sure I asked for a - I mean - where's he from?" he asked in a stage whisper, which given that Porthos was standing right there was both wasted and insulting.

"The agency, sir," said Athos without inflection.

"No, no, I mean where's he _from_?" Louis repeated, flapping a hand impatiently. "Geographically, so to speak?"

"London, I believe, sir," Athos replied. Porthos wondered whether he should interject, but at the moment Athos seemed to be handling things rather well on his behalf, and he stayed quiet.

"Right. yes." Louis frowned at Porthos thoughtfully. "Do you speak English?" he asked, slowly and patronisingly. 

"Yes my Lord," Porthos replied. "Fluently. Also a little French." Beside him, Athos abruptly found something of great interest to stare at in the pattern of the carpet. 

Louis seemed nonplussed. "Oh. Right you are. Porthos, you say?"

"Yes sir."

"Well. How - novel. Yes, well, we shall see how it goes. A trial period, perhaps?"

This wasn't what had been agreed at all, and Porthos had grounds for turning him down. Except then he wouldn't have a job at all, and would be cutting his nose off to spite his face. 

"As you wish, my Lord," he said politely. "I trust you will find my services quite to your satisfaction."

"We'll say a month," Louis declared. "Athos will see to your wages and so on. Any questions?"

"No sir. Thank you sir."

"That will be all then." Louis dismissed them with a wave, and Athos hurriedly escorted Porthos out again. In the passage outside, they looked at each other.

"Sorry about that," Athos murmured with a slight flush. "I did warn you."

Porthos shrugged. "I've had worse. At least he didn't pack me straight off again on the next train, which you clearly thought he might."

Athos looked embarrassed. "One never knows quite which way he's going to jump," he sighed. "Still, that went better than I expected." He gave Porthos a brisk nod. "Welcome to the household. I'll show you your room."

They collected Porthos' bag from the kitchen and Athos lead him up a steep and narrow back stairway to the servants' accommodation. At the top the landing held three doors.

"That's the bathroom you may use," Athos said, pointing to the door straight ahead. "There's another lavatory to the rear of the kitchens, and one outside in the stable block, please don't use any of those reserved for the family, obviously." 

He gestured to the door on the left. "Through there is Constance's room, and also Fleur's, she's the parlour maid, I don't believe you've met her yet." Athos looked at him. "You are under no circumstances to go through that door, do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Porthos wondered whether to be offended, then decided Athos probably gave this talk to all new members of staff. Having seen the looks passing between d'Artagnan and Constance, he wondered how effective it had been in his case. "Trust me," Porthos added, "you'll have no trouble from me on that score."

Athos nodded, satisfied, and lead him through the door on the right.

"You might need to mind your head," Athos called back just in time, as Porthos found he had to duck under the rather low lintel. To his relief the ceiling was higher on the other side. They were in a narrow corridor with small high windows letting in light and a row of identical doors down one side. 

Athos lead him to one halfway down and opened it. "This is your room. I trust it will be adequate."

Porthos stepped inside and looked around. It was a small room holding just a metal framed single bed, a chest of drawers, wardrobe and small vanity unit with a basin. It was all plain and rather bleak, but at least it was a space to call his own and he set his bag down thankfully on the bed.

"This'll do fine," he nodded. "Thank you."

"We'll need to see about having a uniform made for you," Athos said. "If they require the car in the meantime you'll have to make do." He looked Porthos' by now rather crumpled suit up and down with a critical eye. "Let Constance have anything you need pressed or laundered," he added pointedly. "She'll see to it."

He lead the way out again and Porthos followed, trying to take everything in and memorise which door was his. Distracted, he completely forgot about the low lintel and walked straight into it with a smart thwack.

"Ow! Fuck!" He staggered back, holding his head, and Athos glared at him.

"There will be no language of _that_ kind in this house," he snapped coldly. "Not while there are ladies present. Do you understand me?"

Porthos flushed. "Sorry. Yes. I forgot meself. It won't happen again."

Athos' expression softened a fraction. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. No harm done." Porthos rapped on the side of his head with his knuckles. "Solid mahogany, this."

"I'd have said more of a light teak really," Athos murmured with a crooked smile. 

Porthos raised his eyebrows, in surprise at Athos making a joke more than anything, but Athos took his expression as censure and looked abruptly horrified.

"God I'm sorry, was that rude? It was not my intention to be offensive, my apologies."

"No, you're alright. It was quite funny actually." Porthos smiled at him. "But thank you. For asking."

Athos nodded, clearly still a little flustered, and Porthos warmed to him for the first time at this glimpse of humanity.

"I would never purposely cause offence," Athos said contritely. "If I ever give it unintentionally, you must tell me."

Porthos nodded, surprised that he should care. Most people didn't give it a second thought, in his experience. He followed Athos carefully down the winding stair back to the kitchens, and decided cautiously that so far, it looked like he'd fallen on his feet.

Athos took Porthos to the butler's pantry at the rear of the kitchen. One entire wall contained cabinetry containing silverware and the more expensive china, and at the rear was a desk, above which more shelving held what looked like neat ledgers of household accounts. 

"You will need to carry a petrol allowance," Athos explained, unlocking a small safe and withdrawing a fold of notes. He peeled some off, counted them twice and asked Porthos to sign for it.

"Let me know as and when you need more," Athos said. "Obviously I will require your receipts."

"Obviously." Porthos tucked the money safely away. Athos was a funny sort, he mused. Terribly stiff in some ways, but with flashes of a dry humour underneath that suggested he might not actually be as stern as he came across.

"May I see the car now?" Porthos asked eagerly, figuring that he might as well become acquainted with his reason for being here.

"Yes, of course. I'll - " Athos was interrupted by a discordant jangling noise and looked up at a board over the door. The bell marked 'study' was dancing vigorously, and he stifled a sigh. "Looks like I'm wanted. I'm sure Aramis will take you."

Aramis proved entirely willing, and lead Porthos outside to where an old coach house had been converted to a spacious garage for the family's new pride and joy.

Porthos was instantly smitten. The sunlight pouring in through the double doors made the immaculate black coachwork shine with life and he took in the sight with covetous enthusiasm for the thought he would get to drive it.

"A Hispano Suiza," he said, almost under his breath. "Coupe de Ville. Six cylinders. She's beautiful."

Aramis clapped him on the back, laughing. "You look like you're in love, my friend."

Porthos smiled at him, starry-eyed. "An expensive mistress," he admitted. "It will be an honour to drive her, but I'm glad I didn't have to shell out for the purchase cost. His Lordship can't be short of a few bob."

"He was smart," Aramis said, following the gleaming curve of the headlamp with his finger. Porthos resisted the urge to smack it away. "Invested in munitions during the war, rather than relying on his family money to tide him through. Doubled his fortune, so I heard."

"Guess the war was kinder to some than others," Porthos said darkly. Aramis just shrugged.

"Those at the top are always going to stay there. It's not just the cream that rises, you know? Why get upset about it. Besides, it means you get to play with the Suiza." Aramis leaned against the wall, watching Porthos making a slow circuit of the car, drinking in all the details. 

"Typical of the man this was," Aramis continued. "One of his friends had bought one, so naturally he had to have one too. Never mind he had no clue how to drive the thing."

"Lucky for me, I guess." Porthos peered in at the leather upholstery, breathing in the scent of it with pleasure.

"Less lucky for Grimaud," Aramis muttered. Porthos looked round. 

"Who's that?"

"He was his Lordship's coachman," Aramis said, examining his fingernails. "Except Louis decided that horse-drawn transport was a thing of the past, and promptly got rid of him. You've got his room." 

Porthos was taken aback. He'd never imagined that his place here would be at the expense of someone else. "I'm - sorry," he stammered. "Were you friends?"

Aramis gave a noncommittal shrug. "Not especially. Don't worry, no one here will blame you for his departure. He was an odd sort. Nearly came to blows with Athos more than once." He smirked. "Probably just as well he didn't, I'm not sure exactly what it was Athos did in the war but I'd put money on it involving garrotting wire."

Porthos looked alarmed, and Aramis laughed. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be quite safe. He only bites with good reason. Come on, I'll give you a tour of the rest of this place. You'd better know your way around."

As the sun was shining they did a circuit of the grounds first, dropping into the stables for a chat with d'Artagnan, where they found him grooming a fine grey mare.

"This is her Ladyship's horse," d'Artagnan explained, and Porthos made suitably admiring noises, while keeping well out of the way of its hooves. He was altogether more comfortable with the idea of mechanical transport but Aramis seemed entirely at ease, petting the horse fondly and feeding her bits of carrot.

"Looks like you're in love," Porthos grinned, pleased to get a shot back at Aramis for teasing him over the car. To his surprise Aramis blushed.

"I just - like horses," he said defensively. "Look, it's getting on, we'd better go back inside. Athos'll be after me for neglecting my duties else."

Given that Athos was the one who'd asked Aramis to show him round Porthos sensed this was an excuse, but couldn't figure out what he'd said to spoil Aramis' mood. Still, he followed him dutifully inside, and they washed the smell of horse from their hands in the scullery, making sure their boots were clean from all traces of straw and dirt. 

Aramis scuttled off muttering something about checking the dining room was laid out for supper, leaving Porthos to venture back into the kitchen alone. He found Constance still in residence, this time accompanied by a younger girl in a lacy cap, whom he presumed was Fleur.

Constance introduced them, and Fleur bobbed a curtsey with a nervous giggle, staring at him with wide eyes. Porthos repressed the urge to sigh. In the melting pot of London he hadn't been all that remarkable, and he'd forgotten how jarring it was to be made to feel different. Still, at least everyone here had so far been relatively kind. Hopefully after a week or two of living together he would have become a person to them rather than a novelty.

He stifled an unexpected yawn, and Constance smiled at him. "Why don't you take some time to unpack and have a rest?" she offered. "Dinner won't be for a while, we don't eat until after they've finished upstairs. They're not going to want to use the car today I wouldn't think."

Porthos nodded gratefully and escaped up to his room, to his relief locating the right door on the first try. Having quickly unpacked he came out again and shut himself in the bathroom, where he ran a bath and sank gratefully into its warm depths with a sigh of pleasure.

A couple of times he heard someone moving around outside, and felt vaguely guilty that he should be taking his ease while others were working - although not enough to cut short his bath. Both Athos and Constance had implied that Louis could be a difficult man to work for, and Porthos figured he should enjoy himself while he could.

Drying himself off and carefully cleaning up after himself, Porthos successfully negotiated the low doorway in the passage and retreated to his room, where he figured a half hour's rest wouldn't do him any harm. Stretching out on the bed, barely a minute later he was fast asleep.

\--

When Porthos woke up, for a moment he couldn't for the life of him work out where he was. The room was dark, and as recollection came flooding back he sat up in a panic, thinking that it must be the middle of the night. He fumbled in the pocket of his bag for a match, and held it up with shaking fingers. To his deep relief the little clock ticking away on the chest of drawers suggested he'd only been asleep for two hours, and he tried to compose himself.

The main part of the house was fitted with gas lamps, but Aramis had warned him there weren't any up here. There was an oil lamp on the windowsill, but a quick shake revealed it to be empty. Further recourse to his bag eventually furnished a stub of candle, and by this meagre light Porthos hastily got dressed.

Venturing out of his bedroom, Porthos was thankful to discover that someone had been up to light a lamp in the passageway. In a state of anxiety and not wanting to be thought rude he rushed towards the stairs, only remembering about the lintel when it was too late to stop. All he could do was close his eyes in flinching anticipation of the impact.

To his surprise, he didn't experience the stunning blow he had expected but made contact with the door frame with a muffled thud that sent him reeling backwards but didn't particularly hurt. Blinking in disoriented confusion, he found to his astonishment that at some point during the afternoon, presumably while he bathed or slept, someone - well it could only have been Athos - had nailed a padded piece of material over the top of the frame.

Porthos fetched the lamp across and had a closer look. There was something written in faint pencil on the plaster above the door he realised.

_Duck, not *uck_

Porthos started laughing helplessly. What kind of man was it, he wondered, who censored his own graffiti?

Downstairs he discovered he was just in time for supper and took his place eagerly at the table in the servants' dining room. Constance served up a delicious smelling chicken pie, and to his surprise, Aramis said a short grace. 

This done, everyone tucked in with a will, and Porthos was pleased to find how relaxed the atmosphere was. Athos said little, working his way through his meal in a calm silence, but everyone else chattered away nineteen to the dozen, and Porthos learned a lot of intriguing snippets about his new companions. D'Artagnan had a widowed mother, that he sent most of his wages home to. Aramis was a mostly lapsed Catholic, with a penchant for quoting obscure verse. Constance was not only housekeeper and cook but also an accomplished seamstress, and had made the wedding veil Lady Anne had got married in. 

During dinner Fleur had said even less than Athos, but every time Porthos looked over at her, he found her eyes fixed on him. Each time she hastily lowered her gaze and blushed furiously, and the one time he managed to hold her gaze long enough to smile at her, she choked on a potato.

When Porthos enquired after Serge, remembering there was still a member of the staff he hadn't met yet, Aramis explained he lived in a cottage in the grounds with 'Mrs Serge', and rarely ventured into the house.

"So tell us about Porthos," Aramis invited, settling back with a cup of coffee when they'd finished eating.

"Not much to tell really," Porthos smiled. "Spent the war in the transport arm of the RASC, delivering vehicles and working as a mechanic. After that I stayed in London, as a personal driver and valet."

"You're a valet as well?" Constance asked, and smirked at Aramis. "Look out, he'll be after your job."

Porthos laughed. "Seriously, if anyone needs anything doing, let me know if I can help out. I don't imagine his Lordship'll be needing the car so often that I'll be rushed off me feet."

"That's kind of you," Aramis nodded. "There's always stuff to be done in a place this size." He sighed. "Staff tend not to stay long."

"Don't put him off before he's started," Constance chided. "It's not that bad," she added, looking at Porthos. "Mostly His Lordship deals with Athos. He shelters us as best he can." 

Athos raised an eyebrow but said nothing, seemingly uncomfortable at this suggestion he might be kinder than he appeared. Porthos grinned at him.

"I meant to say, thank you for the padding," Porthos said. "Saved me quite the headache just now."

Athos let a glimmer of an embarrassed smile show through. "It was a whim, really. We've all learnt to avoid it as second nature," he said. "But I guessed you might take a few knocks before remembering. You're taller than the rest of us." 

This rather cryptic exchange then had to be explained for everyone else, causing considerable hilarity. By the time they all retired for the night, Porthos was feeling quite one of the family. 

\--


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning following a very satisfactory breakfast, Porthos approached Athos with a question.

"I thought I'd take the Suiza out for a bit of a shakedown," he explained. "Get the feel of it, as it were, before I've got passengers on board."

Athos nodded. "Yes, alright. Good idea."

"It's just - I don't need his Lordship's permission or anything?" Porthos asked, wary of causing trouble for himself when he was only here on trial.

Athos considered. "As far as I'm concerned the car and associated activities are entirely under your jurisdiction. But yes, it wouldn't hurt to keep him apprised. I will let him know when I go in this morning."

"Thank you." Porthos nodded gratefully.

"Tell you what, why don't you take it into town," Athos suggested. "Nip in to Samson's, they're on the main street. Get yourself measured for your uniform. They're expecting someone to pop along, it's all set up on our account."

Porthos collected the keys and made his way out to the old coach house. Unlocking and drawing back the doors he felt oddly like he was stepping into an animal's cage, one that was eager to be liberated. 

Once behind the wheel he guided the car with lip-biting care out onto the sweep of gravel that met up with the main drive, and breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he'd cleared the door-posts. This was it. Freedom, in the shape of an open road and a straight-six engine. 

Porthos knew that theoretically this car was capable of doing a hundred miles an hour, and smiled inwardly at the thought. Not that there was any danger of him attempting that on these local twisting lanes, but it was knowledge that sent a fizz of excitement through him.

He might not be the overall ringmaster he mused, but ultimately it didn't matter. He was the lion tamer, and keen to put the beast through its paces.

Motoring with sedate control down the drive, he passed d'Artagnan on the back of a fine bay hunter that he guessed was his lordship's. D'Artagnan waved at him with a grin and urged the horse into a canter that promptly overtook the car once more. 

Porthos shook his head, laughing and refusing to be drawn into a race on his first outing. D'Artagnan reached the end of the drive a good few lengths ahead and punched the air in amused celebration before making himself useful and slithering off to open the gates.

Porthos threw him an appreciative salute as he passed through and d'Artagnan waved back with a smile, dutifully closing the gates again as Porthos disappeared down the road.

It was a bigger, heavier car than the one Porthos had been used to driving in London, but having spent a good portion of the war moving armoured vehicles around there wasn't much about it that fazed him. He soon had a good handle on its quirks and personality, and by the time he pulled up in the main street of the little market town, as Aramis had joked, he was thoroughly in love with it. It certainly beat the long, weary walk he'd had up to the house the day before.

The car drew a lot of stares, being by far the most impressive vehicle on the street, but not as many as Porthos did when he got out. By the time he reached the frontage of Samson's he was feeling a distinct prickle of discomfort. Nobody had addressed him directly, but the weight of the combined gaze of what felt like half the town was pressing down on him, and he wished Aramis or even Athos had come with him. They would have provided the townsfolk with a familiar face, and given him a context. He realised too, that if Lord Louis couldn't drive, the car would be unfamiliar as well.

Porthos took a deep breath and marched in through the door of the gentlemen’s outfitters with his head held high. Strangers were bound to get stared at, he figured. With that car, maybe they thought he was a film star.

The thought made him smile, which was just as well, as it inadvertently disarmed the young man who'd come out at the jingle of the bell, and who had been about to demand to know what Porthos wanted in terms of deep disfavour. Faced with a broad smile, ingrained politeness caused the words to falter on his lips, and gave Porthos the chance to speak first.

"Good morning. I'm from the manor, I've been sent to be measured for a uniform by Mr Athos?" he said hopefully.

The mention of Athos' name worked wonders, and the assistant visibly brightened. "Of course! We've been expecting you," He looked Porthos up and down with a professional eye that made him squirm self-consciously, and nodded. "Yes, yes, come this way. Chauffeur's uniform, wasn't it?"

"That's right." Porthos followed him into a back room where he spent the next half hour suffering the indignity of having what felt like every inch of him measured every which way.

When he was finally released with a deep sense of relief, he made his way back to the car. A group of inquisitive children had gathered around it, and he chased them away with a good-natured growl, not wanting to return with sticky fingermarks all over the bodywork.

It was a blessed respite to climb back into the protective cocoon of the chauffeur’s compartment and shut out the curious stares of the townsfolk. None of it had felt especially hostile, but he wasn't quite used to being so much the centre of attention.

Driving back out again he considered the town on its merits and decided on the whole he liked it. It was a pretty place. Warm honey coloured stone and colourful window boxes gave it a welcoming feel, and Porthos found himself hoping that here, too, he would be around long enough to become just another unremarkable part of the community.

Of course this all depended on him making a good enough impression with his employers to be taken on permanently at the end of the month, or at least have his trial period extended. Consequently Porthos spent the next hour getting used to the handling of the car and also familiarising himself with the lanes around the house, including the best route into town, and to the station. It wouldn't do, he realised, to be asked to take his Lordship somewhere and have no idea which way to go.

Noticing the fuel gauge was low and realising with a twinge of guilt how long he'd spent pootling around for his own enjoyment, Porthos headed for the filling station on the edge of town and was pleased that he found it first try.

The lad who came out to serve him was bowled over by the sight of such a car, and another happy half hour passed in discussing its finer points. By the time Porthos had got back to the Manor, garaged the car safely and wiped off the dust from the road, he was starving, and hopeful of a decent lunch.

There were certainly appetising smells coming from the kitchen, but Porthos had no sooner walked in than Athos appeared at his side, looking dour.

"There you are. His Lordship wants you to take him out."

"In the car?" Porthos said, heart sinking. 

Athos gave him a look. "Obviously. You can hardly think I meant for a drink at the nearest public house."

There was a muffled snigger from d'Artagnan, who was lounging in his customary seat by the hearth. Porthos glared at him, this being somewhat safer than glaring at Athos.

"Now?" Porthos asked plaintively. Constance was doling out platefuls of a rich-smelling stew, and his stomach growled hungrily.

"No, three quarters of an hour ago actually, but you weren't here," Athos retorted. Porthos looked panicky, and Athos softened his tone. "I told him I'd sent you on an errand into town. But you need to go now. He doesn't like being kept waiting."

Cursing his luck and wishing he hadn't spent quite so much time fooling around in the lanes, Porthos hurried back out. Having just put the car away he now had to go through the whole rigmarole of getting it out again, and drove round to the front of the house in nervous anticipation.

Lord Louis, presumably having been alerted by Athos, was waiting for him on the steps, clad in a garish driving outfit complete with bright red leather gloves and set of thick-lensed goggles, which given the car was entirely enclosed seemed a little surplus to requirements.

Porthos sighed, bringing the car to a halt in front of him. When Louis did nothing but stand there and look testy, Porthos hurriedly got out and ran round to open the rear door for him.

Fortunately Louis' excitement at finally getting to play with his new toy outweighed any lingering annoyance at being made to wait for Porthos' return, and with a loud cry of encouragement, he urged Porthos to set off.

\--

It was nearly dark when Porthos finally made it back, exhausted and light-headed from hunger. He dropped into the kitchen's one comfortable chair and massaged his temples with a groan.

"How did it go?" Aramis asked from where he was stacking crockery from the dumb waiter, looking amused.

"Who was it said he was taxing?" Porthos sighed. "He spent the whole time leaning through the partition telling me what to do, regardless of the fact he clearly doesn't have a clue himself." 

"Sounds like his Lordship," Aramis murmured sympathetically. 

Constance bustled over with a thick slice of cold meat pie on a plate. "Here, supper's not for a while yet, but I'm guessing you could do with this."

"You're an angel," Porthos told her gratefully. "A life saver." He sat back and stretched out his legs thankfully, feeling cramped and stiff. "I don't think I've ever met such a truly aggravating man in my entire life," Porthos said with feeling, thinking that he could well see why staff tended not to stay long.

Barely were the words out of his mouth when he realised Athos was leaning in the doorway to the butler's pantry, quietly listening to the conversation, and Porthos sat up and cleared his throat in sudden alarm. 

"Sorry, I probably shouldn't be bad-mouthing him," Porthos muttered, feeling embarrassed.

"Don't worry," Aramis said reassuringly. "What's said below stairs stays below stairs. That goes for everybody," he added carefully.

Mouth already full of pie, Porthos nodded to show that he understood Aramis meant it was to apply to him too.

"Mind you," Porthos noted once he could speak again. "You'd never be able to get a word in edgeways to tell him anything in the first place. I swear he didn't draw breath once."

"It would explain a lot," Aramis grinned. "If there's no oxygen getting to his brain."

Athos shook his head in despairing disapproval at the pair of them, but vanished back into his room without saying anything. Aramis caught Porthos' eye and winked. 

"Told you," he mouthed. "Bark's worse than his bite."

\--

A couple of days passed. Porthos felt he was getting the hang of the rhythm of life in the house, and was relieved, too, that so far his lordship seemed perfectly satisfied with his performance and had made no further mention of the fact he was on a probationary period. 

Aramis suggested that Lord Louis might well have decided to see it as an extra bonus - having a coloured driver would set him apart from his friends and acquaintances, even those with chauffeurs already. He probably thought it made him look daring and modern and avant-garde.

Porthos had snorted at this, but Aramis shrugged peaceably. "It keeps him happy and you employed," Aramis said. "I know it's easy for me to say, but where's the harm?"

Porthos might have a great deal more to say on the matter, but they were fortunately interrupted by the arrival of Porthos' new uniform and everyone insisted that he go and try it on immediately. Bowing to popular demand he obliged, and went up to change.

His previous employer hadn't insisted on a formal uniform, merely a smart suit, and he'd never worn anything quite like this before. There were smart grey trousers that managed to both flare at the thigh and fit snugly around his backside at the same time. There was a matching grey jacket with two rows of shiny buttons, that completely covered a crisp white shirt. There was a peaked cap in the same grey, black leather gloves, and to finish off the outfit gleaming black leather boots that came up to his knees. 

Once he had all this on, he felt trussed up like a bird for the pot, and edged back into the kitchen feeling extremely self-conscious. There was a distinct smirk of amusement from Aramis, but to Porthos' relief her ladyship's bell rang just then, and Aramis volunteered to go and answer it rather than hang around to tease him.

"So how do I look?" Porthos asked the others rather nervously. Athos just looked him up and down and gave him a brief nod of approval, but Constance and Fleur clustered round admiringly.

"Very dashing," said Fleur, blushing bright red, but this time daringly holding his gaze. "Very handsome."

"Well, thank you," Porthos laughed. He winked at her. "Maybe I should take you for a ride sometime, eh?"

"I hardly think that will be appropriate," Athos broke in coldly. He gave Fleur a pointed glare. "Finished polishing all the silver, have we?"

Fleur lowered her eyes in alarm. "Noss'r. Sorry s'r," she muttered, and hurried off into the scullery. Constance gave Athos an exasperated look, and followed her.

Left alone, Athos turned to Porthos. "You lay one finger on her, I will break the arm it's attached to," he said calmly. "Understood?"

"It was just a bit of fun," Porthos protested. "I didn't mean anything by it!"

Athos said nothing, merely remained staring at him with a chilly expectation that clearly said he didn't intend to repeat himself. 

"Yeah, fine, I understand," Porthos sighed crossly.

"Good," said Athos crisply, and walked out of the room.

When Aramis came back in Porthos was sitting at the table looking forlorn, and he frowned. "You alright old chap?"

Porthos groaned. "Just trying to figure out Athos."

Aramis laughed. "Well, let me know if you have any luck." He studied Porthos more closely. "He's spooked you hasn't he? Let me guess, his normal charmingly grumpy self one minute, cold dead eyes of a killer the next?" Porthos nodded and Aramis smirked.

"Don't worry, he's done it to all of us at one time or another. What did you do to incur his wrath?"

"Nothing," Porthos muttered, not wanting to incriminate Fleur, but Aramis was ahead of him anyway.

"Is it 'cause young Fleur's been making eyes at you?"

Porthos conceded the fact with a resigned nod. "What's his problem anyway? He sweet on her or something?"

"Athos? Good God no." Aramis' eyebrows shot up into his hair. "At least, I don't think so. Thing about Athos," he said in a quieter tone, "is that he can be surprisingly protective."

Porthos sighed. "I guess I can see that. Young girl, first time in service and all that. Alright, I won't hold it against him." He looked thoughtful, as his mind turned to another topic. "I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but - is there something going on between d'Artagnan and Constance?"

Aramis chuckled. "You've noticed that have you?"

"Yeah. And I'm fairly certain if I've noticed, Athos will have. Does d'Artagnan get the same roasting I've just had, or is it just me he doesn't trust?"

"I think d'Artagnan and Constance have a certain - understanding," Aramis said carefully. "Athos seems happy to turn a blind eye as long as there's no actual evidence of fornication going on under his roof."

" _His_ roof?" Porthos echoed, smiling. "He's less protective of Constance then."

"Well, she's more a woman of the world," Aramis said. "If you see what I mean."

Porthos frowned. "Not sure I do," he admitted, wondering what Aramis was implying.

Aramis looked embarrassed. "Well, she's a widow. That's all I meant. Been married already."

"Oh, right. I didn't know that."

Aramis nodded. "Her husband was killed during the war."

"In action?"

"No, a bomb dropped on his haberdashery." Aramis gave a guilty smirk, and Porthos tried not to laugh. It wasn't really funny, but there was something irreverent about the way Aramis told stories that made you complicit in his mockery. 

"She's never seemed terribly cut up about it, to be fair," Aramis continued. "I believe she was already working for her Ladyship, and was well taken care of." 

"I've still not met Lady Anne," Porthos told him. "I've seen her in the distance, but not to speak to."

"Oh, you'll like her," Aramis said enthusiastically. "She's an altogether more decent soul than his Lordship. Grace personified," he added, a little wistfully.

"Grace personified?" Porthos repeated, grinning, and Aramis flushed. 

"She's a nice person. That's all I meant." Aramis got to his feet, huffing. "You really want to get to the bottom of Athos, find out how he got his limp."

"This a wind up?" Porthos asked suspiciously, but Aramis shook his head.

"No, genuine curiosity. He refuses to talk about it."

"Well maybe it was traumatising for the poor chap," Porthos pointed out.

"Maybe. On the other hand, I can't imagine anything of a sufficient magnitude that would traumatise Athos," Aramis laughed. "He's far more likely to have traumatised it right back."

He put together a set of tea things on a tray and carried them out, leaving Porthos on his own again, musing on what he'd learnt. 

What with Fleur making eyes at him, Aramis swooning over Lady Anne, and d'Artagnan and Constance's 'understanding', it looked like Athos had a full time job on his hands thwarting the evils of below stairs fornication. 

Porthos smiled, wondering if Athos was sweet on anyone himself. He suspected not, there was something very self-contained about the man. Something lonely, too, and Porthos realised he had a new appreciation for Athos' protection of Fleur. He'd never heard the man refer to any family - maybe after all, the people here were all he had.

\--

A few days later Porthos was returning from a trip into town to collect a parcel of dress material for Lady Anne, only to walk into what appeared to be a huge argument. 

Athos and d'Artagnan were facing off in the centre of the kitchen while everyone else was hovering nervously round the edges, as if trying to distance themselves as far as possible without actually leaving. Porthos' first thought was that d'Artagnan had pushed his luck too far in terms of Athos' blind eye, but the argument seemed to be about something else entirely.

"It's not like it was particularly valuable," d'Artagnan was protesting, managing to look both sheepish and defiant at the same time. 

"Oh, well, I'm sure her Ladyship will be sure to take that into account when you go and apologise to her!" Athos shot back, and d'Artagnan flinched. "What were you even doing in that part of the house?" Athos demanded.

"Looking for Constance," d'Artagnan confessed in a mumble, and Athos threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Oh, it just gets worse."

Porthos sidled up to Aramis. "What's going on?" he muttered.

"From what I can make out, d'Artagnan managed to knock over one of her Ladyship's antique vases whist skulking in a part of the house he had no business being in," Aramis whispered. "Then rather than coming clean straight away he did a bunk, presumably hoping that everyone would think it had somehow magically fallen over on its own. Except Fleur found the pieces and came to Athos in tears, terribly afraid she'd be blamed for it, as she's the only one who dusts them."

"At which point d'Artagnan owned up?" Porthos guessed.

"And they've been shouting at each other ever since," Aramis sighed.

It was a bit of an exaggeration, neither man was quite shouting yet, but it was still the first time Porthos had heard Athos raise his voice, and it made him uncomfortable.

There was no telling how long this would have gone on for, but in a brief lull in the argument, the kitchen door swung open. Given that all the staff were already in the room, everyone turned round in surprise, which increased tenfold when they found Lord Louis standing in the doorway looking irate.

Covering his shock, Athos stepped forward to meet him and Porthos sensed that under his calm exterior he was furious. Down here was his jurisdiction and house owner or not, Louis' presence was an astonishing trespass.

"My Lord. What seems to be the problem?" 

Louis pointed a finger at him rudely. " _Someone_ , has smashed one of my wife's vases," he accused. 

Athos bowed his head. "My apologies my Lord, I am aware of the incident, I was just attempting to establish the facts before - "

"I want them fired," Louis cut across him peremptorily. 

At the back of the room, Porthos was conscious of d'Artagnan's indrawn breath, and a muffled squeak from Constance. 

"I beg your pardon?" Athos stared at him, thrown.

"You heard me. I want you to find out who was responsible for such an act of wanton vandalism, and have them dismissed. Without references!"

Athos went pale, but his voice when he answered was cold and steady. "No, my Lord."

Louis blinked at him. "What? What do you say?"

"I said no, my Lord," Athos repeated firmly. "I will not. Such a punishment is hardly deserved - "

"I'll be the judge of that! These people are under your management, do you refuse to do your duty then?"

"Ah, I'm glad you recognise that sir. They are, indeed, under my management, and as such any punishments will be meted out accordingly, by me. If that is a responsibility you wish to take from me, then that is entirely your prerogative, but if that is the case, you will have my resignation. Either I am permitted to run the staff, or I am not. I will not have the matter clouded."

Lord Louis spluttered at him. "Don't be ridiculous Athos. Of course I don't want your notice. But dash it man, I demand you find out who broke the damn thing."

Athos took a steadying breath. "Then, it was me."

Behind him d'Artagnan opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again as Constance reached out and dug her fingernails into his arm.

Louis gave Athos an exasperated look.

"Now, Athos, I don't believe that at all."

"The staff here are my responsibility. Therefore, any fault ultimately lies with me. If you wish to dismiss anyone - " Athos gestured expressively, and Louis shook his head in defeat.

"Your loyalty to them does you credit." He wrinkled his nose. "I suppose. Oh very well. You may deal with the culprit as you see fit. But one thing I do insist on is that the cost of replacement is deducted from their wages."

"As you wish my Lord." Athos bowed respectfully, and Louis harrumphed and swept out again.

As soon as he'd gone the tension pricked like a balloon and everyone would have started talking at once, but Athos held up a warning finger and checked the passage to ensure his Lordship had in fact gone.

Satisfied, he came back in and nodded, sitting down at the table with a sigh.

D'Artagnan sagged into a seat opposite, and stared at him with weak relief. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "God, thank you."

Athos nodded, and passed a hand over his face. "Try not to break anything else, there's a good chap."

D'Artagnan laughed nervously, before plucking up courage to ask the other thing that was on his mind.

"You won't - take the money all at once will you?" he asked anxiously. "I don't care about myself, but the money I send home's pretty much all my mother has to live on."

Athos shook his head. "I won't take any of it," he said quietly. "If I do, and his Lordship asks to see the accounts which he is entirely within his rights to do - he will see who it was, and may still decide to dismiss you."

Porthos was horrified. "Surely he wouldn't be so underhand!"

Athos sighed. "I would like to say I considered him above such behaviour. However - " he shrugged. "One cannot be too careful."

"He'll still want to see the money reclaimed," Constance pointed out.

"Then I'll deduct it from my own wages," Athos said simply. "Like I said, the responsibility stops with me."

"That's hardly fair on you," d'Artagnan said guiltily. 

Athos shrugged. "Life often isn't."

"There might be another way," Constance offered. "What if we all paid a bit towards it? Tell him you couldn't find out who it was, so you punished everyone. He'll like that."

Athos looked thoughtful. "It's a good idea, but I can't ask people to take a penalty for something they didn't do."

"I don't mind," Aramis said immediately. "I think it's a good idea. I'm in."

"Me too," said Constance, and Fleur nodded as well.

"And me," Porthos chipped in. Athos glanced up him. 

"Don't feel pressured into it," he said. "You were out of the house at the time, and can be reasonably absolved."

Porthos shook his head stubbornly. It would feel a lot more awkward to be left out, and besides, he liked d'Artagnan. "I'm willing," he insisted. "If we do it, it should be all of us."

"Very well." Athos nodded. "Then we are agreed. Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," d'Artagnan echoed, looking stunned and emotional. "All of you. I don't deserve it."

"No, you don't," said Athos dryly. 

Constance made a face at him. "I think we all need a nice cup of tea," she declared.

"Best give d'Artagnan an unbreakable cup," Aramis suggested, and the last of the tension dissolved in the laughter that followed. 

\--

At the end of the month, Athos doled out the wages with solemn ceremony. In all cases the amounts were slightly docked to account for d'Artagnan's costly breakage, but Athos had announced he would spread it over two months, so nobody would be too inconvenienced.

Payday was always festive and Porthos enjoyed the widespread good humour around him, albeit with a nervous shadow at the back of his mind. Not having started on the first of the month he still had nearly a week to run on his trial period, although had agreed to fall in with the general date for staff payments, to save Athos having to do two sets of accounting. 

Athos seemed quietly confident that Porthos would be kept on as a matter of course, and Porthos too was cautiously hopeful - Lord Louis had taken to being driven around in his motor car with a gleeful enthusiasm, and few days went past when he didn't demand Porthos drive him somewhere, even if it was just for an aimless spin around the lanes.

Lady Anne seemed rather less taken with the vehicle, although had been perfectly polite and gracious to Porthos. Aramis had been right about that at least, Porthos reflected, in that her Ladyship seemed a genuinely nice and sweet person, if rather at the mercy of her husband's whims. Porthos always made a point to drive extra-carefully when Anne was his passenger, taking corners in sedate contrast to the speeds at which Louis frequently urged him to go.

That night Porthos lingered downstairs talking to Aramis long after everyone else had gone up to bed. When they finally mounted the stairs, still talking and yawning, Porthos threw open the door to his bedroom with a careless disregard for his surroundings and promptly froze at the sight that met his eyes.

Athos was standing in front of his bed, which might not have been all that remarkable, if it hadn't been for the fact he was stark naked.

For a moment Porthos couldn't get a word out. At the opening of the door Athos had looked up, and was apparently just as startled to see Porthos standing there.

"Can I help you?" Athos asked after a second, with remarkable composure.

Having had these extra few seconds to process matters, it had finally dawned on Porthos that this wasn't his bedroom at all, and he'd casually thrown open the wrong door.

"Sorry," he croaked. "Wrong room." He hastily withdrew, fleeing to his own bedroom next door feeling a hearty relief both that Aramis hadn't witnessed his embarrassing mistake, and that he hadn't demanded to know what the hell Athos was playing at.

He sank onto his bed, fanning himself with his hand and feeling hot from head to toe. What must Athos think of him? Hopefully he would see the funny side, although Porthos conceded Athos wasn't exactly known for being light-hearted.

Now he'd had time to consider matters, Porthos was rather perplexed. He'd been inside both Aramis and d'Artagnan's rooms and both were filled with everyday clutter, such as piles of clothes, pictures on the walls, knick knacks and mementos of home. His own room, in contrast, was still relatively bare - but so was Athos', which was what had confused him. 

He frowned. Athos, as far as he was aware, had been here some time, certainly longer than d'Artagnan, he knew that for a fact. But his room had been as bare as if he'd only just moved in. If he'd walked out tomorrow, there wouldn't have been a single sign he'd ever been there.

Porthos found this made him quite sad. Athos might not be as frivolous as some, but surely some home comforts were needed? There was another point that preyed on his mind too, now he'd calmed down enough to consider it. 

Not the memory of the pale curve of Athos' bare arse, although that certainly held a charm all of its own, Porthos allowed guiltily. But the fact that the top of his left thigh had been a shocking mess of scar tissue. Cobwebbed white lines that spoke silently of shrapnel had converged on a dimpled and ruined expanse of flesh that was more scar than skin.

No wonder the poor bastard limped, Porthos thought. He wondered if Athos was constantly in pain, and if that was why he rarely seemed to smile or laugh. Porthos' heart went out to him, and he was also horribly conscious that he'd inadvertently witnessed something that by all accounts Athos had made efforts to keep hidden. 

Somehow, he would have to make it up to him.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

The following night when the house was quiet, Porthos knocked discreetly on Athos' door. He'd tried to find a moment during the day in which to apologise for his faux pas, but had never managed to get Athos alone and concluded that this approach would be the best, and also most discreet.

Athos opened it and looked out at him in surprise. "Porthos. Is everything alright?"

"Yes. Um. It was just that I find myself in possession of a bottle of single malt, and - well, I was wondering if you'd have a drink with me?" Porthos brought the bottle out from behind his back and waggled it hopefully.

Athos gave him a crooked smile. "Not from his Lordship's cellar, one hopes."

Porthos grinned. "Not at all. Bought with the proceeds of my first pay packet. What do you say?"

"Why me? I'm hardly known for being a convivial drinking companion," Athos murmured, clearly rather taken aback by the invitation.

"Well, obviously my first choice would have been Aramis, but he's disappeared off somewhere. You were the next best thing."

Athos looked at him, and slowly broke into a reluctant smile at the teasing. He said nothing, but pushed the door wider for Porthos to enter.

"Have a seat," Athos invited, picking up a glass from the bedside table and rinsing it out in the basin.

The only place to sit was the bed, and Porthos settled there a little awkwardly. Athos sat down next to him holding two glasses. One was a plain tooth-glass, but the other was a fine cut glass tumbler and Porthos laughed.

"Is that his Lordship's best crystal? Tut tut Athos."

Athos looked sheepish. "It's not like he's ever missed it. He tried whisky exactly once, and it gave him a headache for three days. I think I'm safe."

Porthos poured them both a generous measure, and Athos handed him the better glass.

"This is very kind of you," Athos murmured, when they'd silently toasted each other and taken a sip.

"I wanted to apologise," Porthos said quietly. "For last night." To his relief, Athos smiled.

"It hardly needed an apology of this magnitude," Athos said, savouring the taste. "It was an honest mistake. I assume."

Porthos laughed. "Yeah. All these doors look the same. Anyway, sorry."

"You're forgiven." Athos knocked back the rest of his drink and Porthos poured them both some more.

Athos seemed to be considering something, and after they'd drunk most of the second measure, he made up his mind. 

"I would consider it a kindness if you did not share what you saw with the others," he said quietly. 

Porthos looked sideways at him. "Not as if you've got anything to be ashamed of. I could have bounced a shilling off that arse."

Athos spluttered on a mouthful of whisky, and Porthos grinned at him.

"I imagine you know full well what I'm referring to," Athos said with dignity.

Porthos nodded. "What happened to you?" he asked after a pause.

"Does it matter?" Athos sighed.

"Not really. Just being nosy," Porthos admitted.

Athos looked at him for a moment. "I might be more inclined to tell you if I didn't suspect Aramis had put you up to finding out," he said.

Porthos held his gaze. "Doesn't mean I'm going to tell him."

After a further few assessing seconds, Athos sighed. "There's not much to tell really. It happened in the war. Like so many others, I got caught in a blast. Was lucky not to lose my leg."

Porthos nodded. "So - why the big secret?" he couldn't help asking, thinking that he could have guessed that much detail for himself.

Athos downed another shot of whisky before answering. "I was working as part of - a small team," he said carefully. "Four of us. The others were all killed, in the explosion that did this." He gestured at his leg with an accusing hand. "I was the only survivor. And it took me a long time to come to terms with the guilt of that," Athos admitted softly. 

"Hardly your fault," Porthos pointed out, pouring him another drink.

"No. Not my fault," Athos sighed. "But somehow, knowing that didn't help. I wished, for a long time, that I'd died with them."

"Not any more though?" Porthos asked, a little anxiously. To his relief, Athos shook his head.

"Only so long you can wallow in self pity," he said, staring into the amber liquid as if seeing something else entirely. "They'd have wanted me to get on with my life, not waste it moping."

"Sound like sensible chaps," Porthos offered, and Athos managed a faint smile.

"Yes. Yes, they were. Practical men, all of them."

"Does it hurt?" Porthos ventured after a pause. "Your leg?"

Athos shook his head. "No, not really. To be honest there's not a lot of sensation in that bit at all." He jabbed at his thigh through his heavy trousers, making Porthos wince. "The occasional twinge, that's all. I can generally tell when it's going to rain," Athos added, looking almost amused.

Porthos laughed. "That must be handy. They should put you on the wireless."

Athos smiled, then abruptly looked sad again. "Promise me you won't repeat any of this? It may not sound like much to you, but it is a weight of guilt I still carry with me, and one I would rather no one else knew of."

Porthos nodded solemnly. "You have my word. I know what it's like to have guilty secrets," he sighed. Athos looked at him curiously, but Porthos offered nothing further and he didn't pry.

Instead they carried on with the serious business of drinking, and before Porthos knew it half the bottle had gone. By this point they were slumped far more companionably together on the bed, down to their shirtsleeves, and enjoying the warm glow of creeping inebriation.

Porthos was fighting the rising urge to confide in Athos, to offer him a secret in return for the one Athos had entrusted to him. Every shred of common sense advised against it, but the alcohol was combining with the long-held need to unburden himself, and Porthos couldn't resist.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked abruptly.

Athos raised an eyebrow, topping up his glass with a hand that was considerably steadier than Porthos'. "Of course."

"My own guilty secret," Porthos said with a rueful smile. "I know what it's like, see. To carry something around with you that you can't tell anyone about."

Athos studied him. "You're drunk," he said kindly. "Don't tell me anything you wouldn't want me to know when you're sober."

Porthos nodded, gratefully. "I want to tell you," he mumbled. "I need to tell someone. Even if you hate me for it. I just - have to."

"Go on then," Athos said quietly. "I have asked you to keep my troubles secret, the least I can do is offer you the same courtesy."

Porthos mustered his thoughts, blurred at the edges. It had been a long time since he'd had this much strong drink.

"You know I promised you that Fleur and Constance would be in no danger from me?" he said.

Athos nodded, watching him with a wary curiosity.

"Well I meant it. Women - hold no interest for me," Porthos admitted slowly.

"By inference - you are saying that men do?" Athos asked. His tone was quite neutral, with no hint of the disgust that Porthos had been afraid of, and he was mightily relieved.

"Yeah," Porthos breathed. "I mean - I'd never do anything about it," he added hastily, in case Athos should get the wrong idea. "I've never even told anyone," he sighed. "I suppose I just needed to, before it ate me up inside." He looked sideways at Athos. "Have I shocked you?"

Athos shook his head. "I'd like to think I'm a man of the world," he said. "I know it goes on."

"Not round me it doesn't," Porthos said gloomily. "Chance'd be a fine thing."

Athos gave a huff of laughter and poured them both more whisky.

"Thank you," Porthos said. "For not judging me."

Athos smiled. "Here's to guilty secrets," he said, and clinked their glasses together.

Somehow the second half of the bottle went the way of the first, and Porthos was having difficulty focussing as he reached out to re-fill their glasses once more. It took him several seconds longer than it should have done to work out what the problem was. 

"We've drunk it all. Fuck." Porthos clapped his hand to his mouth and looked so alarmed that Athos leaned helplessly against his shoulder and patted his arm with a splutter of laughter.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "I'll forgive you. No ladies present, after all."

Porthos grinned at him happily, whilst wishing the room wasn't swaying quite so much. Athos didn't seem quite as tipsy, and Porthos tried to pull himself together, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself, or for Athos to think he couldn't hold his drink.

"I sh'ld go," Porthos slurred, wishing he didn't have to. It was warm and comfortable here, particularly with his arm pressed against Athos. 

"Yes," Athos agreed, but he was smiling, and Porthos thought how unfairly attractive he was. He'd noted in an abstracted sort of way that Athos was handsome, but he'd never really considered him an object of lust. Not until now, anyway. Possibly drinking half a bottle of single malt had a lot to do with it, or maybe it was the way Athos was holding his gaze, or the way he hadn't shamed him for his earlier confession.

It crossed Porthos' befuddled mind that there could be a very good reason for Athos not having a problem with it, and tried to blink some clarity into his thought processes. A drink-fuelled theory was one thing, but he was dangerously close to testing it out, and that could only end badly.

Porthos realised several seconds had passed since he'd declared he should go, and he hadn't moved. Wasn't entirely sure he could move, and that was only partly down to the drink. Mostly it was the way he was transfixed by Athos' mouth, just inches from his own, and how easily he could close the gap between them.

"Athos."

"Yes?" There was still a smile playing around his lips, and Porthos wished the room would stay still for a second to let him think straight. 

"Do you need a hand getting back?" Athos offered solicitously when Porthos made no reply, and reached out, sliding a hand onto his shoulder.

Somehow the contact broke the last inch of his restraint and Porthos lunged forward, capturing Athos' mouth in a messy kiss.

Too drunk to care about the potential consequences, it still came as something of a surprise when Athos, after a brief yelp of surprise, started kissing him back.

Dizzy now with more than the alcohol, Porthos could hardly believe it was happening. He kept waiting for Athos to realise what he was doing and pull away in horrified disgust, but somehow he didn't. In fact Athos deepened the kiss, sliding a hand round the back of Porthos' neck and pulling him closer.

Unable to believe his luck and convinced it was probably the only time in his life it would happen, Porthos went with it. He'd kissed a number of women before, mainly through not wanting people to think there was anything wrong with him, but it had never been like this. For a start, none of them had had a beard.

"Athos," he moaned, cupping the man's face between his hands and kissing him with all the fervour of a lifetime of pent up longing.

Athos hushed him gently. "Aramis is asleep next door," he reminded Porthos in a whisper, kissing him again to show that he only meant they had to be careful, not that he wanted to stop.

Porthos nodded guiltily, but thoughts of discovery were the last thing on his mind. He bore Athos down to the bed so they were lying full length, and proceeded to kiss him breathless.

He had no idea how long they lay there like that, kissing and touching and pressing their bodies together. Porthos had drunk entirely too much to be anything more than half-hard, but it was enough to be pleasurable, especially when he could feel the corresponding swelling in Athos' trousers pressed snugly against his hip.

Eventually sheer exhaustion overtook them, and Porthos lay with his head in the crook of Athos' neck, arms around him and lulled by his breathing.

"You should go," Athos said softly, stroking his hair to take the sting from his words.

"Can't I stay?" Porthos mumbled, turning his face to kiss the base of Athos' throat where his collar hung open.

"As much as I would like that, we can't risk being found together," Athos reminded him. "And my door, as you discovered yesterday, does not lock."

Porthos raised his head and blinked at him in consternation. "It doesn't?" 

Athos shrugged. "My predecessor seems to have taken the key with him when he departed. I've never got round to getting the lock changed. It's not like I've got anything worth stealing."

Porthos looked around at the sparsely furnished room, and frowned. "You do travel light," he agreed.

"I've found it's best," Athos said. "Not to become tied down." There was a melancholy note to his voice that made Porthos kiss him vigorously, pleased when Athos smiled again.

"You really do have to go."

Porthos hauled himself to his feet groaning. The room swayed alarmingly and he had to grab the chest of drawers to avoid falling into the wall. Somehow he stumbled out and into his own room where he collapsed face down on the bed and passed out halfway through trying to unfasten his trousers.

\--

A hollow knocking sound invaded Porthos' restless dreams, and he forced his eyes open to find it was full daylight and he was lying on top of his bedclothes. Fragmented memories of the night before gave him a confused rush of emotions, but this was countered by the sour taste in his mouth and his pounding head.

After a second he realised at least some of this pounding was on the door, and he staggered across to open it. Outside, an obscenely cheerful Aramis grinned in at him.

"Morning. You missed breakfast, thought you might need a wake up call." He frowned, taking in Porthos' bleary state. "You look rough. Are you alright?"

Porthos managed a nod. "Yeah. Sorry, I just overslept. Thanks for the knock up."

"No problem." Aramis turned to go, then hesitated. "Word of advice, wouldn't let Athos catch you in that state," he murmured confidentially.

When he'd gone, Porthos suddenly experienced a wave of nausea and made a dash for the bathroom, where he spent the next few minutes miserably dry-heaving over the lavatory.

Washing in freezing cold water in an attempt to clear his head, Porthos thought about Aramis' words. He'd assumed Athos would be equally the worse for wear, having matched him glass for glass, but it sounded like the bastard was showing no ill effects.

Porthos felt a flicker of nerves. Surely after last night Athos wouldn't hold his current condition against him? He realised with a cold shiver that this would likely depend on whether Athos regretted it or not. He had to have been at least as drunk as Porthos had been. What if Athos had woken up and been horrified at what they'd done?

There was only one way to find out and that was to face the music. Hands shaking too much to shave, Porthos contented himself with changing his clothes and neatening himself up as much as he could before carefully making his way downstairs.

To his relief Constance and Aramis were the only people in the kitchen, and he lowered himself gingerly into a seat at the table. Constance, clearly primed by Aramis, plonked a cup of tea and a glass of water down in front of him with a knowing smirk.

"Do you want some breakfast, or are you beyond that? There's still some sausages left."

Porthos shook his head. "No, thank you. I think that would be a bad idea," he said in a hoarse tone, trying not to think about how queasy he still felt.

"Heavy night was it?" Constance went back to the range and started banging pots and pans about in what Porthos considered an entirely unnecessary manner.

"Something like that," Porthos muttered. It all seemed rather unfair. "Is Athos not-?"

"Is Athos not what?" asked a dry voice behind him, and Porthos jumped guiltily to find Athos had emerged from the butler's pantry. He looked as composed as ever, and Porthos frowned at him resentfully. 

"Nothing," he muttered.

They stared at each other for a second, both trying to work out what the other was thinking. Athos' face was utterly impassive, and Porthos again felt that sick lurch of worry. He'd been hoping for a smile at least, some recognition of what had passed between them. 

Maybe it was just the presence of Aramis and Constance that held him back, Porthos thought. Both of them were watching silently with an air of nervously amused anticipation, to see if Athos was about to tear a strip off him for being clearly hungover and quite possibly still drunk.

Before Athos could say anything, Fleur came into the room carrying a tray of dirty breakfast things. "His Lordship wants to go into town," she announced. "He says can Porthos bring the car round straight away?"

Porthos closed his eyes in horror. He'd been praying for a quiet day where he could nurse his headache and find somewhere private to replay his memories of the night before in more detail.

Somehow he found the strength to get to his feet, only for Athos to clap a hand on his shoulder and force him back into his seat. 

"Sit down," Athos said coldly. "You're in no state to drive anyone anywhere. You're sweating whisky. Can you even see straight?"

Porthos swallowed thickly. "I have to do what he wants."

Athos stared at him, then gave an irritable shake of the head. "I'll speak to him." He strode out, and Porthos put his head in his hands.

"I'll lose my position," he groaned. "Drunk on duty while still on probation? I'm sunk."

Aramis patted him cautiously on the shoulder. "Depends what Athos tells him," he said thoughtfully. 

The next ten minutes were among the most stressful of Porthos' life. It had occurred to him that if Athos did regret what they'd done, this would be the perfect opportunity for Athos to get rid of him.

When Athos finally came back in he took in the four pairs of eyes all looking anxiously at him and sighed. 

"I told him you were ill," he said to Porthos. "He was of a mind to make you drive him regardless, but I asked if he was willing to risk infection and he changed his mind."

Porthos slumped in relief. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Thank you."

"Go back to bed," Athos told him, a little more kindly. "Sleep it off."

Porthos nodded and got to his feet, meeting Athos' eyes with a searching gratitude. Athos remained inscrutable, but the fact he'd saved Porthos' skin suggested all was not lost, and Porthos climbed back up to his quarters a happier man.

"It's not a blue moon or something is it?" Aramis asked, once Porthos had gone to bed, and the two women had moved into the scullery.

Athos gave him a look. "Excuse me?"

"Well. I've never seen you let someone off that lightly for screwing up," Aramis smirked. 

Athos sighed. "It was mostly my fault he's hungover in the first place," he admitted. "We were drinking together last night. It should have occurred to me sooner that he might not have my tolerance for it."

"You mean you drank him under the table?" Aramis' smirk broke into a grin. "I am never letting him forget this."

\--

When Porthos finally returned to the kitchen several hours later, he was feeling much better. He gratefully wolfed down the late lunch that Constance had saved him, and was just finishing his second cup of tea when Athos came in.

Athos merely looked him over incuriously and gave him a silent nod of greeting, but Porthos got to his feet. "Athos. Can we talk?" he asked quietly.

Athos hesitated, but finally nodded. "Yes, of course. Come in." Porthos followed him into the butler's pantry, and closed the door carefully behind him. Athos had turned to face him with a blank expression that couldn't quite disguise his nerves.

Porthos found his mind had gone blank. "You first," he muttered.

Athos just stared at him. "I have nothing to say. It was you that wanted to talk to me."

Porthos gave an incredulous laugh. "After what happened last night? You really have nothing to say?"

Athos shifted restlessly. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. "Do you expect me to _apologise?_ "

"What? No! God, no, Athos, that's not what I meant." Porthos realised suddenly how this must look, how Athos too must have been wondering if he was regretting their actions.

Athos relaxed a fraction. "That's alright then," he said a little stiffly.

"Is that it?" Porthos asked a little lamely. He hadn't quite been expecting a desperate declaration of undying love, but something more friendly than this unbending formality would have been welcome.

Athos gestured helplessly. "We were drunk, it was a bit of fun. What more is there to say?"

Porthos sagged in defeat. "Not much when you put it like that I suppose," he muttered.

"Then are we done here?"

"Yeah." Porthos watched as Athos let himself out and disappeared at a barely dignified speed. He sat down in the now empty room, and sighed.

\--

Porthos tried to be sanguine about it all. He had formerly been resigned to living out his life never knowing the intimate touch of another man, and what Athos had given him in those short hours was more than he had ever dreamed he could have. 

He tried to be grateful, and accepting of the fact that Athos seemed disinclined to want a reprise - but discovered it wasn't such a simple feat to banish the man from his mind. Now he'd kissed him once, Porthos wanted nothing more than to do it again, and found himself driven to distraction by the idea.

To his relief Athos at least remained on friendly terms with him; Porthos had been afraid that he would withdraw completely, but that proved not to be the case. He took heart from that, and was determined that while he would never press his attentions where they were unwelcome, he would at least make it clear that should Athos change his mind, he would be left in no doubt as to Porthos' willingness to participate.

Consequently, whenever Athos chanced to meet his eye Porthos gave him a broad smile. He tended to do this to most people so it passed unremarked by the rest, but Athos' reserved demeanour had meant before now Porthos had mostly treated him with a wary respect. The respect hadn't changed, but having had your tongue down a chap's throat certainly gave you a different perspective on things.

Athos' response to this assault of cheerfulness was initially flustered confusion generally followed by a hasty retreat. Porthos persisted though, and Athos' discomfort gradually turned into a faint amusement as he came to understand that Porthos did not intend to follow this up with anything more forward.

A week passed, and Porthos was deep in conversation with Aramis over the relative merits of the Hispano Suiza against the baronet's Bugatti when Athos came into the kitchen and announced that Lord Louis wanted him.

"Right you are, I'll bring the car round," Porthos said, grabbing his cap. Athos shook his head. 

"No, you misunderstand, he wants to see you upstairs. In the study."

Porthos went cold. "Did he say what he wanted?" he asked, wishing he didn't sound quite so nervous.

"No. But I imagine it's related to the end of your month's trial," Athos predicted. "Presumably he will now confirm you in a permanent position."

"Or let me go," Porthos said gloomily. Aramis slapped him on the back.

"Don't be so defeatist! He's made no complaints has he?"

Porthos shook his head. "Not to me," he admitted. "But you never know." He reluctantly made his way upstairs, convinced that his time was up and he was headed for unemployment.

\--

A very short time later he was back in the kitchen, and was touched to find that all five of them were waiting anxiously for his news.

"Well?" demanded Aramis before he could speak. "He'd better have kept you on. Or we'll set Athos on him."

Porthos laughed, relief and happiness making him giddy. He nodded. "Yes. He said he was very pleased with my work, and that assuming I wanted to stay he was prepared to offer me a permanent position."

"About the only sensible thing he's ever said," d'Artagnan declared. 

"I'm so glad," Constance told him, and to Porthos' surprise gave him a hug. Fleur looked like she wanted to do the same but was too shy, and contented herself giving him a sweet smile. Aramis and d'Artagnan both banged him on the back triumphantly, and even Athos gave him a nod of approval.

"Now that's settled, maybe we can all get on with some work?" Athos said dryly, and with varying degrees of complaining everyone dispersed to their different tasks until it was just Porthos and Athos left alone in the room.

"Congratulations," Athos murmured, and Porthos stared at him hopefully.

"Are you pleased? Really?" he asked, still half-nervous that Athos would have been glad to see the back of him.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Athos looked surprised. 

Porthos smiled at him. "Just checking."

Athos snorted. "Should have more faith in yourself," he muttered, and despite the fact he immediately retreated into the back room, it was enough to make Porthos giddy for the rest of the day.

\--

An uneventful week passed. Porthos was slowly becoming resigned to the idea that Athos wasn't interested in him after all, when one night at dinner he glanced up to find Athos watching him from across the table. 

Porthos smiled at him, a little ruefully as he thought of what could have been. To his surprise, rather than looking away, Athos cautiously smiled back. It was enough to set Porthos' heart thumping, even though Athos lowered his eyes to his plate again almost immediately. It had been a smile just for him, Porthos thought, softer than the amused twist of the lips that was all you normally got.

Twice more that night Porthos caught Athos watching him, although it wasn't until they went up to bed that Athos allowed himself to be drawn into conversation. In fact, to Porthos' surprise, he initiated it.

They were alone in the corridor, and Athos hesitated by his bedroom door. "Porthos," he called quietly, and Porthos turned back questioningly. 

"Have you got a moment?" Athos asked, and Porthos nodded, walking back over to him. 

"What's up?"

Athos studied him for a second, eyes roaming over Porthos' face as if trying to make up his mind about something. "There's a couple of things I was going to show you" he said finally.

"Oh yes?" Porthos waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Athos appeared to be trying not to laugh. He entered his room and Porthos followed him, closing the door behind them hopefully. 

"I - ah - owe you a bottle of whisky," Athos said. "Or half a one, at least. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a drink?"

"I'd love to." Porthos nodded, taken aback but pleased. He wondered if Athos was intending a repeat of the events of the earlier night, of if this was just supposed to be a manly drink between friends. And how to find out, before he embarrassed himself.

"What was the other thing?"

"What other thing?" Athos frowned, pouring out two measures. Porthos noted that Athos had purloined a second crystal tumbler, and smiled to himself. This was looking pleasantly premeditated.

"You said there were a couple of things you wanted to show me," Porthos reminded him.

"Oh. Did I?" Athos looked shifty, and Porthos grinned at him. 

"Yes. And now I'm intrigued as to what the other thing might be."

"Right. Well. Um. I suppose that was just the - " Athos took a steadying breath. "The fact that my door now has a lock," he said in a rush.

Porthos stared at him for a good few seconds while he processed the implication of this, then turned to look at the door. It did indeed now have a sturdy metal bolt screwed to it.

"So it has," Porthos agreed, suppressing the urge to laugh. "You're quite the handyman." 

"I can turn my hand to most things," Athos muttered, and Porthos turned back to grin at him.

"I like the sound of that," he said, and still holding Athos' gaze he reached out and deliberately shot the bolt into place.

Athos swallowed, and then took a large gulp of his drink. Porthos smirked, moving across to him with a slow deliberation. Athos had made his intentions as clear as a bell, and Porthos was fully willing to step up and make the next move.

He took the glass out of Athos' hand, set it on the chest of drawers, and slid his hand round Athos' neck, cupping the back of his head. His intention couldn't have been plainer and Athos didn't pull away, merely gave a nervous intake of breath as Porthos leaned in and kissed him.

It was a deep kiss, and a passionate one, but after a few seconds Athos pushed him back shakily, picking up his glass again and draining it.

"Not sure I'm drunk enough for this yet," he confessed in a low voice. 

"Oh, charming." 

Athos looked briefly embarrassed, but relaxed when he saw Porthos was joking. "I didn't mean it like that, and you know it."

Porthos regarded him. "I don't need to be drunk to do this," he said, adding quietly after a brief hesitation, "But if you do - perhaps I shouldn't be here after all?"

Athos shook his head quickly. "Believe me, it's not lack of inclination on my part, merely for want of courage."

Porthos took Athos' hands in his. "You don't strike me as a man who lacks courage," he whispered, leaning in again.

This time, Athos didn't push him away.

They moved across to the bed, still kissing, and by unspoken agreement lay down in each other's arms, holding each other close. Without the debilitating effects of alcohol, Porthos was soon as stiff as a board and wasted no time at all in making Athos fully aware of this fact. 

By the time they'd been kissing for several minutes Athos was equally as hard, and Porthos was lying half on top of him.

"I want you," Porthos breathed, hardly knowing what it was he wanted, only that he needed more than this. Kissing Athos was a joy, but every movement was muffled by clothing and he wanted to touch.

Athos moved to sit up and for a second Porthos thought he'd blown it, until he realised Athos was reaching down to unfasten his trousers. The unexpectedly forward gesture made him yelp in surprise, and Athos immediately let his hands drop.

"Sorry. Would you rather I didn't?" Athos asked, realising that Porthos' involuntary groan of want might not have been a literal invitation.

Porthos blinked at him. "What - what are we - I mean," he stumbled, and Athos took Porthos' hand and raised it to his lips. 

"Anything you like," Athos murmured. "Nothing you don't like. I promise."

Speechless with a combination of nerves and excitement, Porthos nodded. Slowly, making sure he didn't mind, Athos moved his hands instead to the buttons of Porthos' shirt and started to unfasten them with a teasing deliberation.

Clumsily, Porthos started to do the same for Athos, knocking their arms together as they tried to reach around each other. He mumbled an apology, but Athos smiled and leaned in to brush a whisper-light kiss across his lips.

"Relax," Athos breathed. "It's okay."

Porthos gave him a shaky smile of gratitude, suddenly realising how tense he was. There was no question in his mind that he wanted this, but he'd never done anything like this with a man before - hadn't done much with a woman if he was honest - and he was afraid of embarrassing himself.

Now their shirts were both hanging open over matching white vests, their braces hanging loosely at their sides, and Athos' hands were back on Porthos' trousers. He unfastened them deftly and with a glance up to check it was still okay, slid his hand inside Porthos' underwear.

At the feeling of Athos' fingers wrapped around his cock, all of Porthos' lingering misgivings vanished in a haze of desire. He swallowed a groan, trying not to make too much noise. Aramis hadn't yet come up to bed, he was fairly sure, but d'Artagnan was only two rooms away, and to be found like this would mean the end of everything.

"Alright?" Athos whispered, stroking him maddeningly gently, and Porthos gave a jerky nod. Athos smirked, putting a little more firmness into his touch, and Porthos made a low moan. 

He bent forward and kissed Athos urgently, almost bashing their noses together until he found his balance. He should be reciprocating Porthos realised, with another hot flush of embarrassment, and pulled back enough to concentrate on getting Athos' trousers undone too.

When Athos saw what he was trying to do, he shifted back until he was propped in the angle of the wall, beckoning to Porthos to join him. They settled together, partially turned towards each other, trousers hanging open, cocks sticking out and working each other with an instinctive enthusiasm.

Porthos sensed he wasn't going to last long. He was overexcited and too eager, and every second that Athos' hand spent sliding up and down his shaft was an exquisite agony of self-control. 

He hoped he was having if not a similar then at least a pleasurable effect on Athos - it was certainly a thrill to finally have another man's hard cock in his hand, and Porthos almost wished they weren't pulling each other off at the same time, so he could concentrate on one new sensation at once. He hoped this time Athos would be more open to a repeat performance. There was so much he wanted to do, and have done to him, and right now he wanted it all to be with Athos.

The end came suddenly; one unexpected twist of Athos' wrist and Porthos blew his load, spattering thick trails up his vest. Breathless and ready to be mortified, he relaxed when Athos gave him a grin that spelled out exactly how pleased he was with the effect he'd had.

"Beautiful," Athos murmured sincerely, leaning in to kiss him again. After a moment Porthos resumed his own grip on Athos and started pumping frantically. Athos gave a low laugh, letting his own hand come to rest over Porthos' and slowing him down a little. 

"Easy," he breathed, kissing Porthos again with lots of slow tongue. "Longer. Slower. Harder." With each word he demonstrated, guiding Porthos' hand on his cock, and Porthos groaned with a new wave of arousal himself.

Porthos was a fast learner, and it wasn't long before Athos too had made a mess of his pristine underwear and was leaning breathlessly in Porthos' arms, kissing him in fervent appreciation.

Afterwards they wiped off the worst of it, and Athos fetched them across a drink, which they savoured leaning side by side against the wall, their now flaccid cocks still hanging obscenely out of their trousers.

"I'm sorry I was unkind to you, before," Athos murmured after they'd sat in companionable silence for a while. "After the first time, I mean. I suppose I panicked, rather."

Porthos leaned over and kissed him, to show there were no hard feelings. "Am I your first?" he wondered.

Athos hesitated. "No."

"Man, I mean," Porthos clarified.

"Still no." 

Porthos raised his eyebrows. "You weren't kidding when you said you were a man of the world."

"Does that bother you?" Athos asked warily.

"No." Porthos smiled. "Probably just as well one of us knows what he's doing." He snuggled down against Athos happily. "I wasn't sure you wanted to do this again," he murmured.

"Neither was I," admitted Athos.

"What changed your mind?"

Athos smiled. "You. I found I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I had that problem too," Porthos grinned. "Does that mean we can do this again?" he asked after a beat.

"Yes, I suppose so. Why not? If you want to?"

"Oh I want," Porthos nodded vigorously. "I want very much. If you do?"

Athos nodded. "Yes. I think I do." He sighed and would have said more, but stopped at the sound of Aramis' door opening and closing in the next room as he finally came up to bed.

"Should I go?" Porthos whispered, not wanting to outstay his welcome.

"It would be best," Athos murmured regretfully. 

"As long as I know I can come back, I don't mind so much," Porthos promised, kissing him again for good measure. He looked down at his stained vest with a rueful wince and buttoned his shirt up again over the top, not wanting to risk running into Aramis or d'Artagnan in the few seconds it would take him to go from one room to another. 

He got to his feet and fastened his trousers, looking down at Athos still sprawled on the narrow bed, debauched and dishevelled. "You look gorgeous like that," Porthos said, under his breath.

Athos sat up and pulled him down for a final kiss. "Have sweet dreams," he whispered. "I know I will."

\--


	4. Chapter 4

The next day Porthos found it was a struggle to keep the grin off his face. Athos, naturally, was his usual impassive self, although he did concede the occasional smile when no one else was looking, in response to Porthos' persistently longing gazes.

Passing each other in the scullery, Porthos even risked patting him on the bottom, glancing back to find Athos staring after him with a mixture of fury and suppressed laughter. He couldn't say anything though because Fleur walked in with a stack of laundry and Porthos escaped out to the garage, whistling. 

Life was good, he thought. Although it would be even better if he had Athos here with him right now. Porthos wondered if he could convince Athos to take a ride out with him one day. The thought of laying him out on the leather of the back seat in some secluded lane was an intoxicating one, and Porthos spent a happy couple of hours dwelling on increasingly explicit fantasies as he polished the car to a dazzling gleam.

The result of this was that he was so turned on by the time he'd finished, that he had to wait another quarter of an hour for his erection to die down before he could safely return to the kitchen. 

Athos stayed firmly out of groping range for the rest of the day, but when they went up to bed Porthos grabbed Athos by the wrist and towed him firmly into his own bedroom, locking the door behind them. He promptly took Athos into his arms, and before he could protest had kissed him hard and passionately. 

"I've wanted to do that all day," Porthos sighed happily, when he finally released Athos' mouth.

"You'll get us both fired. Or arrested," Athos hissed in scandalised amusement, struggling free from his grasp.

"No I won't. Nobody's going to know. Aramis went off to take something up to Lady Anne, and I've no idea where d'Artagnan is, but I don't think he's next door."

Athos snorted. "I imagine I know where he is."

"Where?"

Athos hesitated. "I strongly suspect he's in Constance's room."

Porthos gave a bark of laughter. "Are you going to break his legs?"

"I should." Athos smiled, and wound his arms around Porthos' neck, drawing him down for another kiss. "However it happens to suit my purpose very well to have him out of the way." He kissed Porthos deeply, then made a guilty face. "You're turning me into a very bad man," he protested.

Porthos had his arms around Athos' waist, and manoeuvred him over towards the bed. "I've never corrupted anyone before," Porthos smiled. "I like it."

Athos twisted in his arms and turned them around, so that it was Porthos who sat down heavily on the bed, while Athos dropped to his knees on the threadbare rug. 

"Then let me show you just how corrupt I can be," Athos smirked. "And what _I've_ been wanting to do all day."

Porthos held his breath as Athos reached up and unfastened his trousers. His cock was already standing at full attention, and he held his breath as Athos freed him from the confines of his underwear.

With a glance up at Porthos to gauge his reaction and a slight smirk at the level of naked anticipation on his face, Athos bent over his lap and took Porthos' cock into his mouth.

At the feeling of soft lips and a warm, wet mouth around him, Porthos let out a heartfelt groan. Athos pinched the inside of his thigh, and Porthos immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. They should be reasonably safe for the moment, but that was no reason to take risks. Although keeping quiet while Athos was doing _this_ was going to be a Herculean task.

Athos was taking him in almost to the base of his cock, sucking and licking around him with a wicked tongue and Porthos had to fight the urge to thrust wantonly into his mouth. Instead he let Athos set the pace, fingers clenched in the bedclothes to either side of him, his breathing loud in the quiet room and his eyes unfocussed.

Porthos could feel his orgasm building, the tight heat in his stomach and balls a delicious tension. Athos' head was still bobbing industriously in his lap and Porthos wondered if he should warn him how close he was. 

He had to swallow twice before he could get his voice to work. "Athos," he croaked. "I think I'm going to come."

Athos tilted his head to look up at him, and briefly let Porthos' swollen cock slip out of his mouth until it was resting against his lips. "That's the general idea," he smiled, licking lasciviously along the underside, and Porthos had a sudden mental image of coming all over his face.

He groaned, grabbing his cock to buy himself a few more seconds and Athos took him back into his mouth. Moments later Porthos was spilling over his tongue and Athos swallowed around him without fuss, and with every sign of enjoyment.

Porthos leaned over and grabbed Athos by his collar, dragging him up and kissing him on the mouth before he had a chance to wipe his lips, exploring the taste of himself on Athos' tongue.

"God," Porthos panted. "That was incredible. You're incredible. Can I try?"

"Of course," Athos laughed, and they swapped places, Porthos kneeling between his legs as Athos quickly unfastened his trousers.

Athos had made it look easy, but Porthos soon found it was more difficult than it seemed. He almost made himself gag with his first attempt and pulled back in consternation. Further experimentation had much the same result, and he settled on sucking around the head and licking and kissing the shaft, hoping that Athos would like this well enough. 

Where he couldn't reach with his mouth Porthos explored with his hands, overwhelmed by the realisation of what he was doing and torn once more between doing one thing slowly and thoroughly, memorising every second of it, and trying to experience everything at once.

"I'm close," Athos warned him in a whisper, bending over him almost protectively, and carding his fingers through Porthos' hair. "Is it okay for me to come in your mouth?"

Porthos nodded awkwardly, determined not relinquish him for a second longer than he had to. The knowledge that he'd managed to bring Athos to orgasm with his inexpert ministrations was gratifying, as was the fact he managed not to choke on the sudden salty rush that flooded his mouth a second later. He swore he could feel Athos' cock pulsing between his lips and felt like he could come all over again himself for a second time.

Rather shakily he got to his feet and Athos pulled him down on the bed where they kissed again, messy and mutually appreciative.

"Was that alright?" Porthos asked, a little anxiously, once they'd been kissing for a while. 

"Alright? It was amazing."

Porthos laughed. "Well, I'm glad you think so. But I wasn't as good as you. And don't tell me I was, because I know I wasn't," he added, as Athos tried to interrupt.

"Well then, may I recommend lots and lots of practice?" Athos smiled, and Porthos muffled his delighted laughter in Athos' shoulder. 

"Besides," Athos continued. "You were a lot better than my first attempt. I tried to take too much in and nearly threw up. Humiliating wasn't the word."

Porthos chuckled and kissed him fondly, but it set him thinking about who Athos might have practiced on, and he found himself trying to imagine the circumstances. Athos didn't strike him as the promiscuous type, or a man willing to risk his liberty and reputation by being too open about things.

"Can I ask you an impertinent question?" Porthos mused.

Athos eyed him with a slight smile. "Go on."

"How many men have you been with?"

Athos gave a splutter of indignant laughter, and Porthos looked horrified. "I didn't mean it like that! Oh God, that sounded awful. That's not what I meant at all. I just - " he took a steadying breath, relieved that Athos looked amused rather than angry. 

"It's something that I used to wonder about, all the time," Porthos continued. "I mean - I knew there were other men who liked men - but I never really identified with any of them. In the war, there were a couple of guys that everyone knew about. They were - willing, you know what I mean? They'd go round the back of the warehouses with anyone, and there were certainly those who took them up on it. But they never interested me. Too - effeminate, maybe?" he said carefully. "One of 'em'd even wear make up in the mess some nights. Somehow they got away with it, they were more of a standing joke than anything. I mean fair play to 'em, they were getting what they wanted I guess. And risking a heck of a lot more than I was ever prepared to. But I still never felt like I was the same, you know? I always wondered if that was what you had to be like, or if there was anyone else out there who was - well, I suppose normal's the wrong word, in the circumstances."

"Ordinary?" Athos suggested, and Porthos smiled. 

"Yeah. That's it exactly." He took Athos' hand where it lay between them on the covers, and squeezed it gratefully. "I never thought I'd ever meet anyone like you."

Athos returned the pressure of his fingers, and leaned against his shoulder. "One," he said quietly, "The answer to your question is one. Before you." He smiled. "In case you thought I was working my way through the barracks."

Porthos snorted and jostled him. "I told you I didn't mean it like that," he protested. He looked consideringly at Athos. To have got as comfortable with this as he seemed, suggested Athos had had more than a passing liaison with the man, and Porthos found he was curious.

"What happened to him?" he asked, hoping it wouldn't seem like he was prying, or jealous.

Athos sighed. "The war happened," he said sadly.

"He was killed?" 

Athos nodded. "I think the hardest thing was not being able to mourn him properly," he murmured, more to himself than Porthos. "I mean, people died, were dying, all the time. It was a possibility you lived with. But to only be able to mourn him as a friend - that there was no one else - not one single person, who knew what he'd meant to me - that tore me to shreds."

"I'm sorry," Porthos whispered, hugging him close.

Athos shuddered, as if suddenly assailed by a cold wind. "No, I'm sorry," he said. "You hardly want to hear about this."

"I do if you want to talk," Porthos said softly. "It's okay, Athos. I don't mind. What was his name?"

When Athos looked up, Porthos was shocked to see tears in his eyes. "Julien," Athos admitted hoarsely. "His name was Julien, and I loved him."

Porthos held him tightly, nuzzling comforting kisses into his hair as Athos' shoulders shook with emotion. The weeping fit passed quickly though, and Athos soon pulled back looking angry with himself, wiping his eyes self-consciously. 

"Sorry," he muttered.

"It's alright," Porthos assured him again. "Talk about him all you need to."

Athos mastered himself, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable at his lapse in control, but to Porthos' relief he didn't try and shut him out.

"He never even made it home," Athos sighed. "He's buried out there. Belgium, of all places."

"Have you been to find the grave?" Porthos asked. Athos shook his head. "Maybe you should."

"You think so?" Athos looked dubious, and Porthos nodded.

"Might help you say goodbye, you know?" He hesitated. "I'd come with you, if you wanted."

Athos looked up at him in surprise, and his sombre expression gradually cleared into a soft smile.

"You are a very kind man, Porthos du Vallon," he said quietly.

Porthos laughed, then raised his eyebrows. "Now there's a thing. I don't even know what your first name _is_."

"It's Olivier," Athos admitted after a pause. "Although it's been a long time since anyone called me that. I prefer Athos."

"Right you are." Porthos smiled. "Athos it is." 

Athos gave a quiet sigh. "I didn't think I would ever want to be with someone again like this," he confessed. "You are changing my mind about so many things, and I hardly even know you."

Porthos hugged him close. "Well I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "Plenty of time to get to know me." He hesitated, biting his lip. "Are we going too fast? Would you rather I backed off a bit?"

To his relief, Athos shook his head. "Once committed to a course of action, I see little point in holding back from it," Athos said, smiling up at him. Porthos grinned. 

"Commitment already eh? I've not even bought you dinner."

Athos' smile broadened, full of mischief. "Well you certainly gave me a mouthful to contend with earlier."

\--

Porthos found himself falling fast and hard. He tried to contain his spiralling feelings, conscious that Athos might not return them, but soon had to concede that his heart was a lost cause. They had never spoken of what they were doing in terms of love, but Porthos harboured the secret hope that surely Athos must now see it as more than just an entertaining diversion. That Athos had lain with him, kissed him, confided in him - it must all mean something, and that was what Porthos clung to, whilst remaining too nervous to ask him outright.

Few nights went past when they didn't seek each other out. Established as firm friends and drinking partners in the eyes of everybody else, the fact they wandered in and out of each other's rooms raised no comment. Aramis and d'Artagnan spent a similar amount of time together, although presumably not engaged in the same activities once the door was shut behind them. Porthos suggested it once out of sheer devilry, that d'Artagnan's interest in Constance and Aramis' clear crush on Lady Anne were both just fronts for more lurid activities, and it was one of the only times he ever saw Athos honestly helpless with laughter, burying his face in the feather pillow in an attempt to stifle the noise.

The first time they were naked together remained indelibly etched on Porthos' memory. Awkward but excited, they'd stripped off completely and climbed into Athos' bed, covering themselves modestly with the blanket as if it offered them some sort of protection from the world. They'd explored each other, hungry for the secrets of a new body; the planes of warm skin, the curls of hair in intimate places, the places that were ticklish, the places that provoked an unexpected moan. The dimples and lines of another man's flesh pressed against their own and mapped through the passage of fingertips and tongue, slowly building each other to matching highs until they'd spilled their lust in hot trails from hip to ribs. 

Afterwards Porthos had let his hand trail curiously over the scars on Athos' thigh. The skin there was tight and ridged, hairless and almost calloused. Athos captured his hand and moved it across to his crotch, and Porthos immediately felt guilty. 

"Sorry. Would you rather I didn't touch you there?"

To his relief, Athos smiled at him. "It doesn't bother me, but as I can't feel much I decided your hand would be better employed elsewhere," he murmured, and Porthos laughed, groping him again obligingly. 

"Have you ever - " Porthos broke off, giving Athos a meaningful look and hoping he'd guess what he meant. Athos, either through honest bafflement or utter bastardry looked blank.

"Have I ever what?"

"You know. With a man. Well, with Julien," Porthos amended tentatively, not certain if Athos would want him to use his name, but Athos was just looking at him enquiringly. "Did you ever - ?"

"What?" 

Porthos sighed. "I get the feeling you know what."

Athos snickered. "Possibly. I just wanted to see if you'd say it." His smile widened at Porthos' expression. "You mean, have I ever taken it up the arse?" he said baldly, and Porthos spluttered in embarrassment.

"No! Well. Yes. Maybe I did. Have you?"

Athos regarded him straight-faced for a moment, then smirked. "Yes. As it happens. And given it." 

Porthos stared at him, curious and mildly turned on. "What's it like?" he murmured.

"Can be amazing," Athos told him reflectively.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Not if you're doing it right. Why, did you want to try it?"

Porthos tensed, and stammered out a non-committal answer. Athos pulled him closer and kissed him.

"We don't have to," Athos assured him in a whisper. "It's not compulsory."

"Maybe one day," Porthos offered, relaxing again. "Not just yet maybe, eh?"

Athos nodded. "Whatever you want." He smiled. "You can always do it to me," he added. "If you'd prefer it like that."

Porthos' eyes widened, and his dick gave a definite twitch that made Athos laugh. 

"Just let me know," Athos murmured, wriggling down beside him in the bed and pressing a kiss to Porthos' chest. "I'm yours to command."

Porthos' heart leaped almost painfully, and he wrapped his arms around Athos with possessive affection. "As am I," he whispered. "As am I."

\-- 

Porthos had got into the routine of helping Constance clear away and wash up the breakfast things. This also helped Fleur as it meant she could go up and start on the bedrooms earlier, and had the added bonus of meaning Porthos got to finish up any stray items that might come back down with the chafing dishes.

"Don't I feed you enough?" Constance laughed one morning, watching Porthos polishing off two cold sausages. He grinned at her.

"When I was a child I spent a lot of time hungry," he explained. "I suppose I got into the habit of never turning down food when it's available." He slapped his belly contentedly, and licked his fingers. "Mind you, at this rate I'll need to ask for an allowance to get my uniform let out a few inches. Here, are you alright?" This last was in response to the fact Constance had abruptly grabbed the edge of the sink, looking distinctly pale and queasy.

Constance nodded shakily. "Yes, sorry, I just came over a bit dizzy." She breathed deeply for a moment, but then clapped a hand over her mouth as she caught the smell of congealed grease and cold egg. "Oh God. I think I'm going to be sick." Before Porthos could say anything further she'd dashed out the back of the kitchen through the scullery to the lavatory, leaving him staring after her worriedly.

In the next moment he had something else to worry about, as the bell marked 'breakfast room' jangled discordantly over the door. Porthos bit his lip, not sure what to do. It wasn't normally his place to enter the family's private rooms, and he'd witnessed the trouble d'Artagnan had got into for doing so - but on the other hand Fleur was upstairs making their lord and ladyship's beds, Athos and Aramis were off somewhere moving furniture, Louis having woken up with the burning desire to have the drawing room completely moved around, and Constance was - well, Constance was unavailable. 

Porthos vacillated for a few minutes, hoping Athos would appear or Constance would come back, but nobody did, and after a while the bell rang again, considerably more vigorously than the first time. Porthos gulped, and made up his mind. There was likely to be far more trouble over no one answering the damn thing, than the wrong man. He hoped.

Before it could ring a third time he hurried upstairs, making his way to the light and airy room in the east wing where Louis and Anne took their breakfast, and were still lingering in the morning sunshine.

They both looked surprised to see Porthos appear at the door, but to his relief Louis seemed minded to take it in good humour.

"Porthos! You haven't come to 'drive' us away from the table I hope?" he cried.

Porthos gave a polite laugh. "My apologies your Lordship, I'm afraid everyone else was temporarily unavailable. I hope you don't mind."

"Multi-tasking eh! Good show. You must be 'geared' up for it, eh? Ready to 'take the wheel' at a moment's notice?"

"Very good my lord," Porthos murmured with a weak smile. Anne came to his rescue.

"Could we have some more coffee sent up please Porthos?" she asked, getting in quickly while Louis was clearly searching painfully for more car-related puns. 

"Yes, of course." Porthos hesitated, not knowing if it was correct to take the empty pot away, or just return with another one. Anne reached over and handed it to him, and he gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you. I'll be as quick as I can."

"Step on it, eh?" Louis called after him, and Porthos hurried out so quickly he almost collided with the door post. 

Downstairs he was relieved to find Constance back in the room. As Porthos was explaining what was wanted Athos and Aramis came in, and looked at him curiously.

"You shouldn't have had to wait on table," Athos muttered, and Constance flushed.

"Sorry Athos, it was my fault," she said quickly. "I was caught short. It won't happen again."

Sensing for whatever reason she didn't want Athos to know she'd been ill Porthos kept quiet, but as soon as Aramis had disappeared with the fresh pot of coffee and Athos had gone into the pantry, he sidled over to her.

"Is everything okay?" Porthos murmured. He was fond of Constance, and didn't like the thought of her struggling through her duties if she was unwell. "Is there anything I can do if you need to rest?"

"Bless you, no," she said, patting his arm. "I feel much better. Must have been something I ate. Thank you though." She hurried off, leaving Porthos frowning. Constance had only eaten what the rest of them had eaten, and he felt fine. Well, mostly fine. Possibly that last sausage had been a mistake he mused, pouring himself a glass of water. 

\--

"I have some news." 

Every eye turned to look at Athos with varying degrees of curiosity. He wasn't given to making pronouncements, and he'd very obviously waited until everyone was assembled before raising the subject.

"You're running away to join the circus?" Aramis suggested. Porthos grinned. 

"My money's on trapeze artist," he called, and Athos rolled his eyes, waiting for the sniggering to die down before continuing. 

"His Lordship has informed me, and asked me to pass on the news to you all, that there is to be a happy event," Athos declared, looking like he was struggling to find anything appealing about it, but was trying nonetheless. "Her Ladyship is with child, and is at last to be a mother."

Before anyone could react to this, the sound of smashing glass made everyone jump. They turned accusingly to where Aramis was standing, looking white-faced and shocked.

"Sorry - sorry," he mumbled, bending hurriedly to gather the splintered shards at his feet. "It slipped." 

"Here." Constance fetched across a dustpan. "Use this, you'll cut yourself otherwise."

Aramis busied himself clearing up the mess, while Athos glared at the top of his head but refrained from saying anything. It seemed to Porthos that the news hadn't gone down particularly well with anyone. Athos looked less than enthusiastic, Aramis seemed downright horrified, and d'Artagnan and Constance had withdrawn into a huddle at the far side of the room and were whispering urgently to each other. The only person who seemed keen was Fleur.

"I love babies," she sighed. "It'll be nice." She gave Porthos big wistful eyes, and he cleared his throat. 

"We won't have to look after it will we?" he asked Athos, who looked amused.

"I imagine a nurse will be engaged at the appropriate time," he said. "All you'll have to worry about is it spewing all over your upholstery."

Porthos made a face. "Maybe I'll ban all passengers under the age of ten," he suggested. 

Athos shook his head ruefully. "I shall be sure to pass on all your congratulations," he muttered. "His Lordship will no doubt be pleased you are all so happy for him, at this time of celebration."

\--

Porthos was heading back from the garage later on when he spied a curl of smoke twisting up from behind a low wall, and guessed it was Aramis. Other than Serge who smoked a pipe and was rarely parted from it, Aramis was the only member of staff who regularly smoked cigarettes, predominantly because Athos had banned it in the house.

Sure enough it was Aramis, sitting on a piece of sacking to protect his trousers from the damp grass, and looking thoroughly miserable.

"You alright down there?" Porthos asked, leaning over the wall and peering down at him.

"Leave me alone," Aramis growled, and Porthos raised his eyebrows. 

"Charming." He walked round to the gate and came through, nudging Aramis' leg with his boot. "Shift up."

Aramis muttered something uncharitable, but he moved over and Porthos sat down next to him. "What's the matter? You've got a face like a wet weekend."

"It doesn't matter." Aramis stubbed out his cigarette and sighed. "It's not your problem."

Porthos shrugged. "Doesn't mean I can't help."

Aramis gave a bleak laugh. "Porthos my friend, I appreciate the offer, but there is nothing you can do to help me. Nothing anyone can do." 

"You're worrying me." Porthos frowned. "Is this because of Lady Anne?"

"What?" Aramis dropped his cigarette case in alarm, and Porthos retrieved it for him.

"I mean, you didn't exactly look thrilled at the news this morning," Porthos said. "And don't think I'm prying, but it's hardly a secret that you like her. I guess you're not daft, you must know you're well out of her league - no offence. But I guess I can understand it must have come as a blow, even so." 

Porthos was turning the cigarette case over curiously in his hands as he spoke. It was silver, and an expensive piece. He wondered idly if it was an heirloom, but there was an inscription on the bottom. _To my dear Aramis, with all my love._

Aramis almost snatched it out of his hands, fumbling out another cigarette. The case was nearly empty, and Porthos wondered how long he'd been sitting out here.

Having finally managed to light it, Aramis took a shaky drag and leaned his head back against the wall, looking sideways at Porthos. "Can I trust you?" 

Porthos bristled. "Of course you can! If you think otherwise - "

"No, no, of course not. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend." Aramis sighed. "I just - I mean, can I trust you to keep your mouth shut? If I tell you something? And I mean not a word to anyone, not even Athos - especially not Athos. I know you're close. I don't want to land you with a secret it would make you uncomfortable to keep. But I have to tell someone or I'll go crazy. I guess I would have told d'Artagnan, but he seems to have secrets of his own at the moment, I never seem to be able to get him alone."

Porthos had listened to all this with mixed emotions. Aramis' mention of his close friendship with Athos had set his heart racing in alarm, wondering if Aramis had perhaps heard something he shouldn't through the wall one night - but it seemed to have been said in all innocence. Aramis looked wretched, and Porthos felt sorry for him. Was there anyone in this place who wasn't harbouring a burning secret, Porthos wondered. At this rate he was going to discover Fleur was a criminal mastermind.

"You can tell me," he said sincerely. "Cross my heart I won't tell a soul." He was too intrigued to walk away now, and assumed in any case it was only going to be Aramis confessing his undying and unrequited love for Lady Anne. Shocking, but hardly earth-shattering, and he suspected that Athos was aware of it in any case.

Aramis smoked his cigarette most of the way down before replying, and then he got to his feet to check they were quite alone before sitting down again and leaning towards Porthos in a confidential huddle.

"You're partially right," Aramis breathed. "It is about Lady Anne's pregnancy." He took a last deep drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out viciously on a stone in the wall. "But you're wrong about the rest." He stared at Porthos with troubled eyes, and Porthos nodded encouragingly. Aramis sighed. "It's mine," he said.

Porthos frowned. "You what?"

"The baby. I think it's mine." Aramis leaned back and banged his head softly and persistently against the wall. "I think I'm the father."

"Bloody hell." Porthos stared at him, and for the first time since the war felt the need for a cigarette himself. "You mean you've - been - you know?"

"Only once." Aramis gave a deep sigh. "That's the stupid thing about it. Mostly we've been so careful. It was - romantic, you know? Sort of - beautifully painful," Aramis said. "It was all longing and stolen glances and fleeting moments. She was so lonely, you see. She never really loved Louis, and he's always seen her mostly as a possession. But we knew we could never be together."

Porthos didn't know what to say. He saw now why Aramis didn't want Athos to know. He was probably afraid Athos would fire him. He might even be right. 

"Sounds like you gave her more than a fleeting moment," Porthos muttered. "Unless it was the biggest let down of her life."

Aramis spluttered with scandalised laughter, and managed a smile for the first time all day. "It was when Louis was away on business," he admitted. "We spent a single night together. I was deathly scared Athos would hear me creeping back to my room at first light."

Porthos counted back the weeks to when he'd driven Louis to the London train, and reflected that Aramis had almost certainly been in no danger, as Athos had probably been in his room at the time, hoping the same thing. This time though, he wasn't tempted to exchange a secret for a secret. His relationship with Athos needed to stay firmly under wraps.

"She told me we were safe, that she couldn't have children," Aramis confessed. "That it had always been a problem between them, that Louis had always blamed her for it." He put his head in his hands. "It never occurred to either of us the fault might lie with him, not her."

"It might still be his," Porthos ventured. "Are you sure you don't just want it to be yours?"

Aramis looked at him irritably, then sighed. "You're right. I need to speak to her. I just need to know we won't be interrupted."

"Well I'm taking Louis to town in half an hour," Porthos told him. "He'll be out the way then. There's your chance."

Aramis grasped his wrist gratefully. "Thank you. And please, whatever happens, don't think badly of me?" He rose and hurried off towards the house, leaving Porthos feeling rather stunned. 

\--

Aramis' confession wasn't the last shock of the day. When Porthos returned from town later on, he was coaxing Fleur to make him a much-needed cup of tea when d'Artagnan and Constance came into the kitchen, hand in hand. Porthos raised his eyebrows at this unexpectedly blatant show of courting, but it seemed they had a deliberate end in mind.

Knocking nervously on the door of the butler's pantry, d'Artagnan stuck his head inside. "Athos, would you join us for a minute please?"

Athos appeared, frowning at the sight of them still holding hands. He glanced enquiringly at Porthos, who shrugged. "What's going on?" Athos asked suspiciously.

D'Artagnan looked round the room at everybody. He looked excited but also extremely nervous, Porthos thought. "I just wanted to let you all know that - as of this morning, Constance has agreed to marry me," he announced.

Fleur squealed and hugged Constance immediately. Aramis too was swift to congratulate them, and Porthos gave them a broad grin, happy for them both. Athos however looked rather sour, and Porthos nudged him. "Lighten up," he muttered. "It's wonderful news."

"Is it?" Athos snapped. "And where are you expecting to live, exactly?" he asked d'Artagnan.

"Well - " 

"I mean, I assume you have thought all this through? Or will you be maintaining separate rooms?"

"No, of course we won't," d'Artagnan objected. "We'll be married."

"Oh, then you'll be expecting Constance to share a single bedroom with you, is that it?"

"No, I - "

"Or do you have a house lined up elsewhere perhaps?" Athos continued, rolling straight over him. "You can afford a house of your own? You have consulted with Lady Anne, she is happy for Constance to live off the premises I presume?"

There were servants' bells wired up to the corridors outside their bedrooms; in the event someone was needed during the night if a bell was pulled in Lady Anne's bedroom, or one of the guest rooms assigned to visiting ladies, it would ring in the passage outside Constance's room. If it was rung from Louis' rooms, it would ring in the men's corridor. 

"I was rather hoping you would give them the news, actually," d'Artagnan muttered sheepishly.

"Oh, you were, were you?" 

D'Artagnan cleared his throat. "Well. Yes. Um."

"Please be happy for us Athos," Constance begged. "We don't mean to cause you trouble, we just want to be together."

The room was silent and tense, waiting to see if Athos would relent. Eventually, he sighed. "Oh, very well. I suppose - there's an empty cottage behind Serge's, it could do with a tenant, it's starting to fall down. I could ask his Lordship if you might be permitted to take it over. It would keep you both on site, at least."

D’Artagnan gave a visible sigh of relief, and Constance threw her arms round Athos' waist. 

"Thank you! I knew you'd help us."

Athos fended her off. "Don't thank me prematurely, he hasn't said yes yet. I suppose you want me to go and ask now?" They both nodded eagerly, and Athos rolled his eyes. "The things I do for you," he muttered, with a pointed glare at d'Artagnan who had the grace to look embarrassed. 

While Athos was gone the mood lightened, with everyone congratulating the couple all over again, and both Constance and d'Artagnan started to look happier and more relaxed. This lasted until Athos returned several minutes later, his expression sombre.

"Athos?" Constance asked nervously. "What did he say?"

"I'm sorry," Athos sighed. "He was completely against the idea. I did try, I give you my word I did my best, but his Lordship refused to even countenance it. Not just the cottage, but the marriage itself. He said - well, I won't repeat his exact words, but suffice to say the idea of any of his servants, ah - living as man and wife under his roof - appears to be a source of deep repugnance."

"But Serge and Mary are married!" Constance objected. This was followed by an uncomfortable silence, during which Porthos wondered why he should feel surprised that Mrs Serge had a name, and everyone else tried really hard not to picture Serge and Mary having conjugal relations. 

"I don't think that really enters into it," Athos said carefully. "Look, I'm sorry. I can try and work on him, but until then I'm afraid you'll need to put your plans on hold. Unless you wish to seek positions elsewhere of course, I will understand if you do. It might be easier to find somewhere that would be happy to take on a married couple as housekeeper and groom."

D'Artagnan and Constance exchanged a look of horror.

"You don't understand," d'Artagnan said reluctantly, in a deadened tone. "We _have_ to get married, Athos." 

Athos stared at him, the light finally dawning as he took in their tight, miserable, _guilty_ expressions. "Oh, you fool," he whispered.

D'Artagnan hung his head. "I know. And I know I did exactly what you ordered me not to, and you have every right to be angry. But we could really use your help right now Athos."

"Well doesn't this change things?" Porthos ventured. "Surely Louis can't object to the marriage now? Maybe with his own baby on the way, he'll be more inclined to be generous?"

Constance shook her head bleakly. "Are you mad? If he thought I'd got pregnant out of wedlock he'd throw me out on the streets with no reference. And I know where you're coming from Athos when you say we should look for a position as husband and wife, but nobody's going to want to take me on with a baby on the way."

Athos, who'd mostly been glaring at d'Artagnan, softened his expression. "Are you alright?" he asked Constance. "Are you well, I mean?"

She nodded. "Yes. There's no problems. Other than the obvious."

Athos took her hands. "You could have done better than him, you know," he murmured, flicking a glance at d'Artagnan. 

Constance gave a nervous giggle. "He's the only one I want," she admitted, face clearing into a tentative smile at the gentleness in his voice.

Athos nodded reluctantly. "I'll see no harm come to you," he said quietly. "We'll work something out. I won't see you on the streets. And whatever happens, and whatever Louis says, I promise I will give you a reference."

Constance threw her arms around him again with a muffled sob, and this time Athos gave her a hug. "It'll be alright," he murmured. "Don't be afraid."

"Thank you," d'Artagnan said, looking shakily grateful. "God, thank you." Athos nodded, and d'Artagnan took Constance back into his own arms. "So. What do we do?"

"You need to get married," Athos said crisply. "As soon as possible, for Constance's sake. You need to find a church willing to marry you - not St Peter's, find one on the other side of town, there's less chance of Louis getting to hear of it. For now you'll have to carry on as if nothing were different - even after you're married if needs be. I can try and work on Louis, get him to change his mind, but it'll have to be a subtle process. He'll need to think it's his idea, or he'll just become stubborn. I know how far I can push him, and he was adamant today."

"The man's a heartless bastard," d'Artagnan spat angrily, and Athos turned icy.

"And you're an impetuous, irresponsible brat," he retorted. "This is your mess, and now all you can do is complain there's no easy way out of it. Time to grow up, d'Artagnan. And if you swear like that in front of Fleur and Constance again, I'll fire you myself."

"He won't. He's just upset," Constance said quickly, taking d'Artagnan by the arm. "Come on. We need to make plans. Thank you Athos, for everything." She dragged d'Artagnan hurriedly away, before he could antagonise Athos further. Athos gave a snort of disgust and marched back into his room, banging the door behind him.

When Fleur left a few minutes later to answer a bell from the library, Porthos went over to sit next to Aramis. "Any luck?" he whispered.

Aramis looked gloomy. "I spoke to her, yes," he admitted, throwing an uneasy glance at Athos' closed door. "It's definitely mine. She - arranged matters, so that Louis would think it was his," he said carefully. "She's determined that no one must find out it's not."

"Well that's sensible," Porthos agreed. "Hard on you though."

Aramis sighed. "I just want to be with her." He gave Porthos a sad smile. "I never thanked you, for not shouting at me."

Porthos shrugged. "We've all done stupid things for love," he admitted, hoping Aramis didn't ask what he'd done. Aramis was too wrapped up in his own problems though.

"You'll keep your promise, won't you?" he asked urgently. "You won't tell Athos?"

"No, of course not," Porthos said uncomfortably. "But look, Athos was pretty sympathetic to Constance and d'Artagnan. He might understand?"

Aramis shook his head vehemently. "Have you not noticed, it's always the women he protects?" he said bitterly. "If Athos thought there was a risk to Anne's reputation by me remaining in this house, he'd have me down the drive quicker than I could pack my things. He's protective, yes, but he can be ruthless when he thinks it's necessary." 

Porthos sighed. "I'll keep your secret. But if you want my advice, you need to abide by Anne's wishes, and stop thinking of this baby as yours."

"I know." Aramis groaned. "But I can't. It's so unfair. Louis doesn't deserve her." He gave a humourless laugh. "Can't you accidentally run him over with the motor car or something?"

Porthos got to his feet and clapped Aramis on the shoulder. "You need to get a grip," he advised. "And solve your own problems."

\--


	5. Chapter 5

Athos remained in a clearly irritable and exasperated mood for the rest of the day, and Porthos went to bed with few expectations that he would be seeing Athos that night. He only hoped that Athos didn't intend to call a halt to their activities completely, and spent a miserable few minutes while he undressed dwelling on the possibility. He had no particular reason to think so, just a churning feeling in his stomach, and so it consequently came as a surprise when he heard a soft tap on his door just after he'd got into bed.

It had been so quiet he wondered at first if he'd imagined it, but then his door cracked open and Athos looked in with a hesitant look of enquiry. Porthos gestured him in hastily, and Athos came right in and locked the door carefully behind him. He was in pyjamas and dressing gown, and as Porthos threw back the covers invitingly, Athos unbelted the dressing gown and laid it on the chair, climbing in beside him.

He looked tired and worn down, and Porthos wrapped his arms around him warmly.

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you tonight," Porthos whispered, adding quickly with a smile, "this is a nice surprise," when Athos looked anxious.

Athos leaned against him wearily. "After today I just needed to be with you for a while," he confessed and Porthos hugged him tighter, sorry that Athos was feeling low but at the same time flushed with hope and gladness that Athos had turned to him in his moment of need. 

They shuffled down in the bed until they were lying down, still holding each other close. "I'm glad you agreed to help d'Artagnan and Constance," Porthos said. "It was nice of you. I think they were afraid you were going to be angry."

Athos sighed. "What else could I do? It's all my fault, anyway. I knew perfectly well what d'Artagnan was doing, but it suited me to have him out of the way. To have condemned their actions would have made a hypocrite out of me. How could I do that, when what I am doing is so much worse?"

"You think so?" Porthos murmured. It was the first time Athos had indicated he had any real problem with what they were doing together.

Athos gave him a rueful smile. "An abomination in the eyes of the Lord," he said softly, with a breathy laugh that held little humour. Porthos frowned.

"I didn't think you were all that religious." Athos accompanied them all dutifully to the Sunday services at St Peter's, but he'd never appeared particularly devout.

"It may surprise you to know, Aramis is not the only one who was raised Catholic," Athos admitted. "It never really leaves you, however hard you try."

"Never had much time for God meself," Porthos admitted. "He didn't do much for me when I was a child, other than leave me orphaned and hungry."

Athos stroked his cheek, his smile a little melancholy. "All that we are, we have made ourselves," he sighed. "Our chosen paths, and our endings alike."

"Hey. Less talk of endings," Porthos objected with a smile. He kissed Athos solemnly on the lips, and made up his mind. "I love you," he said quietly. 

Athos' eyes widened, but to Porthos' relief his mouth twitched into an involuntary and surprised smile. "Do you mean that?" Athos breathed.

"With all my heart," Porthos nodded. "I love you Athos." Relieved beyond measure that Athos hadn't objected to his declaration, or pushed him away. Instead, Athos just stared at him for several long seconds, before pulling him forward into a bruising kiss. 

Relief and love and arousal flooded through him, and while at the back of Porthos' mind he noted that Athos technically hadn't echoed the sentiment, that fact that he was comfortable with Porthos loving him was more than enough.

They kissed for a long time, both too tired after the emotionally draining day to do more, but taking welcome solace from each other.

After they'd been dozing quietly together for a while, Athos sighed, his mind refusing to be still. "Is there something up with Aramis?" he mused.

Porthos stiffened guiltily. "In what way?"

"Well, I just thought - he seems preoccupied. Tense. Is it because of Lady Anne? The baby?"

"What?"

"You must have noticed how he likes her. This news - it must have come as a blow to him."

"Yeah. I suppose you're right." 

Athos propped himself up and looked at Porthos. "He hasn't said anything to you?"

"No. Nothing. He'd be more likely to tell d'Artagnan than me, if something was wrong." 

Athos accepted this, and snuggled back against his side, closing his eyes. Porthos winced. To have told Athos he loved him only to lie to him within the next few minutes didn't sit right, but having given his word, there was nothing else he could do. Aramis was right, there was a very real danger Athos would fire him for what he'd done. At least d'Artagnan and Constance were more or less free to love each other.

"I should go," Athos mumbled sleepily. Porthos hugged him close, feeling guilty.

"Stay?" he coaxed. "Stay with me." 

They kissed each other slowly and sleepily, and before long drifted off still wrapped in each other's arms.

\--

Within a week, the date for d'Artagnan and Constance's wedding was set. They had found a vicar willing to perform the service despite them not being established members of his congregation, on the understanding that they would attend throughout the period when the banns would be read. The wedding would take place in a month's time, and Constance immediately started working on her dress, banning d'Artagnan from the room during the evenings she and Fleur spent poring over patterns and industriously stitching.

"You'll all come, won't you?" Constance asked anxiously one lunchtime as they all sat around the table. She had no family of her own, and d'Artagnan's mother lived too far away to attend. They were planning on travelling to see her the first chance they got.

"We can hardly leave the house entirely abandoned," Athos pointed out, adding quickly before the chorus of disapproval could start, "I'd better stay here and man the place. The rest of you can go."

"Oh. But Athos - " Constance looked at him beseechingly. "I was rather hoping - that is if you didn't mind - well, I wondered if you might not - give me away?"

Athos stared at her in shock, and to Porthos' secret delight actually blushed. "Really?" he managed. Constance nodded vigorously. "Oh. Well. In that case - I suppose I - I mean yes. I'd be honoured. Thank you." Constance leaned over and hugged him gratefully, and Athos looked even more flustered. "I suppose Serge and Mary won't mind covering for an afternoon," he added. 

Porthos caught Athos' eye across the table and winked at him. Athos went redder still and quickly looked away, but Porthos could tell he was pleased to have been asked. He'd come to realise Athos genuinely had no idea how fond the others all were of him, assuming they just saw him as tiresomely strict. Porthos was glad that he at least got to show Athos exactly how much he appreciated him.

Athos was spared further blushes by the ringing of one of the bells, and seeing it was coming from the study quickly took the opportunity to make his escape.

When he returned, it was with some news.

"There is to be a house party," he announced. "His Lordship wishes to honour the impending birth of his heir with a gathering of his friends, here, next weekend."

"That'll be a small group then," Aramis muttered, and Athos gave him a look. 

"Is that the guest list?" Fleur asked, seeing that Athos was holding a sheet of paper, and he nodded and handed it her for inspection. She laid it out on the table and pored over it with interest. "Just six. Two couples and two singles," she noted. "A lady I don't know, and - oh, no."

"What?" Athos frowned at her. "Who?"

"Count Rochefort." Fleur made a face, and to Porthos' surprise so did Athos.

"I suppose it was inevitable, but I had rather hoped Louis had got tired of him," Athos sighed.

"Who is he?" Porthos asked. "What's wrong with him?"

"Ghastly man," d'Artagnan said darkly.

"Last time he was here he kept pinching my bottom," Fleur told Porthos indignantly, possibly hoping that Porthos would leap to her defence, but it was Athos who spoke up.

"If he lays one hand on you, you are to tell me," Athos instructed. "I'll break his fingers."

"And get fired," Fleur giggled.

"It would be worth it," Athos sighed, a little wistfully Porthos thought.

"You really don't like the man," he observed, never having seen Athos express quite such a strongly negative opinion about someone.

"He's the kind of gentleman - and I use the term loosely - that you would happily cross the street to punch in the face," Athos said dreamily. 

Aramis snorted. "I'd like to tell you he's exaggerating," he said to Porthos. "But sadly he isn't. You'll see."

"I look forward to it. I think."

"Who else is coming?" Athos asked. Fleur bent over the paper again.

"The Savoys. That’s Louis’ sister and her husband," she explained for Porthos’ benefit. "The Richelieus."

"New wife there, I understand," Aramis interrupted. Athos looked surprised.

"Really? What happened to the old one?"

"Way I heard it, no one quite likes to ask," Aramis smirked. Porthos was starting to wonder what kind of people Louis was friends with.

"Who else?" Constance asked. "Who's the woman coming on her own?"

"Milady de Winter?" Fleur read out, looking round enquiringly. 

Athos shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell. Must be someone Louis met in London and invited down. I hope she's got her wits about her, with that line-up she'll have her hands full fending off Rochefort all weekend."

"Better her than me," Fleur said darkly. "At least she won't get into trouble if she slaps him." The idea of mousy little Fleur slapping anyone made them all laugh, although Athos caught her eye and nodded meaningfully.

"Remember what I said. He makes a nuisance of himself, you come to me. You don't have to put up with that kind of behaviour, not from anyone. And I'll see you're not sent to wait on him alone."

"Thank you. I don't want to be a nuisance," Fleur said, looking grateful but embarrassed.

"You're not," Athos assured her. He ran his eye down the list again and nodded. "Six isn't too bad. I'm sure Mary will help you with the catering, Constance. And Porthos, would you mind taking on some footman duties for the duration?"

"I'd be glad to," Porthos said immediately. He was rather looking forward to it, and pleased to be involved. He liked parties, even ones he wasn't strictly invited to, and this promised to be a very entertaining weekend.

\-- 

The day before the party Porthos was due to drive Louis into town to attend a Chamber of Commerce meeting. He was hoping for a peaceful ride, but when Louis bounced down the front steps of the house in higher spirits than normal, his heart sank. His Lordship in an excitable mood was invariably a pest, and while there were those on the staff who complained about his prolonged bouts of sulking, Porthos found he preferred Louis that way. At least he was quiet then.

"Morning your Lordship." Porthos held the door open for him and touched his hat respectfully.

"Good morning Porthos!" Louis cried, climbing into the back and sliding open the glass divider before Porthos had even got into his seat. Porthos plastered on a strangled smile. 

"Let's open her up a bit, eh?" Louis declared, pushing his face through the gap in the screen, giving Porthos a confused view of teeth and curls in the corner of his vision. "Lovely day for it." 

"Yes my Lord." Porthos continued taking them down the drive at a relatively sedate pace, seeing Serge opening the gates for them at the end.

"Well come on then, foot down!" Louis urged, and Porthos frowned.

"The gates, my Lord."

"Well he'll have to move quicker then, won't he! Go on, give him a fright." 

"Sir - "

"That's an order, Porthos!" There was a warning note of irritation behind the good humour, and Porthos sighed. With a silent apology to Serge and making a mental note to do a lot of grovelling later, he sped up as much as he dared. 

To his relief Serge noticed the car's increased rate of approach and just managed to drag the second gate clear as they hurtled past him in a spray of gravel.

They swung out onto the road at a dangerous pace and Porthos sent up a thankful prayer that there was no other traffic coming, whilst Louis crowed with delight and banged the back of the chauffeur's compartment approvingly.

"That's the ticket! Come along, keep it up! Let's set a record, see how fast we can get her into town."

Porthos sighed inwardly, but did as he was told. It was a beautiful day, the roads were dry and mostly free from other traffic, and he reckoned he could handle it. If he was honest it was a bit of a thrill; he'd longed to see exactly how fast this beautiful car could go and now he could do it with his employer's sanction.

They roared along the narrow lanes, Porthos flinching every time something from the encroaching hedgerows flicked at what he firmly thought of as his paintwork, but soon the exhilaration of it all took over. By the time they turned out onto the wider main road he was well into it, and with Louis shouting encouragements from the back seat as if he was at the races, Porthos opened her up as much as he dared.

There was more traffic here as they approached the town, carts as well as motor vehicles, and Porthos was wary of spooking the horses but Louis refused to let him slow down. They weaved dangerously between the slower drivers in a squawking of horns before racing down the main street, finally purring to a stop outside the town hall. 

Porthos found his fingers were clamped stiffly round the steering wheel, and had to make a concentrated effort to let go. His heart was thumping and he was more than half hard from the rush of it all. Louis was chortling to himself in the back, and Porthos too gave a shaky laugh of relieved triumph as he realised they'd made it safely.

This came to an abrupt end as a sharp rapping on his window made Porthos jump, and he turned to see a red-faced policeman glaring in at him. His heart sank, and every inch of excitement drained from his body. 

Dismayed, he climbed out in response to the policeman's imperious beckoning and hung his head, wondering exactly how much trouble he was in.

"What the devil do you think you were playing at, driving like that?" the policeman barked. "You could have killed someone! Do you have any idea how many laws you just - oh, good morning my Lord, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't see you in there."

Porthos experienced a twinge of hope. The police officer's tone had instantly gone from irate to deferential, and if Louis admitted it had been at his urging that Porthos had been going so fast, he was far more likely to get away with a ticking off.

Louis though had a look of guilty alarm fixed to his face at the unexpected appearance of the law, and addressed the policeman in the shaky tones of a man at the mercy of his reckless chauffeur.

"I'm terribly sorry officer, I did ask him to slow down, several times. You know what these young men are like when they get their hands on a powerful car. I confess, I was rather frightened myself."

Porthos stared at him incredulously, but Louis wouldn't catch his eye.

"Would you like me to charge him, my Lord?" asked the policeman, looking Porthos up and down disfavourably. "You might want to reconsider the type of man you employ, if you don't mind me saying so."

Porthos swallowed down his anger and just stared fixedly at Louis. He knew protesting that Louis had told him to do it was a poor defence in the first place and unlikely to be believed, but he was damn well going to at least bring it up if Louis asked for him to be arrested.

Louis still wouldn't look at him, but shifted uneasily under the weight of Porthos' gaze. 

"No, I don't think that will be necessary, if you don't mind being lenient this time," Louis conceded finally. "I'm afraid it would leave me in rather a bind to be without a driver, and I have several guests this weekend, some of whom will need collecting from the station and so forth. No, I think perhaps if you could just show him the error of his ways, that would be sufficient. May I leave him in your capable hands officer, I'm late for a meeting with the Lord Mayor?"

"Yes, of course my Lord, sorry to inconvenience you," said the policeman deferentially, waiting until Louis had entered the building before turning on Porthos with all of his original fury.

Over the next few minutes Porthos endured the dressing-down of his life. What made it worse was that this was carried out on the high street for all to see, and by the time the policeman had finished with him quite a crowd had assembled.

When it was over he slunk back into the driver's seat, grateful for the enclosed design that let him shut out the world. His hands were shaking from fright and fury, and he was glad that he had to wait there for Louis' meeting to finish, because right then he didn't think he was capable of driving anywhere.

The sheer audacity of the man, to lie outright about the circumstances of Porthos' actions left him speechless. He supposed Louis had wanted to avoid being told off himself, or even fined, but it still beggared belief. 

It was over an hour before Louis reappeared, by which time Porthos' breathing and heart-rate had finally returned to something like normal, and he was thanking his stars that at least he wasn't sitting in a prison cell.

Louis said nothing more than, "Drive on please," when he got into the car, making no reference to what had happened. Porthos was grateful for his silence, because he had a strong feeling that anything he said in reply would have been sufficient to get him fired.

There was still worse to come though. Porthos stopped outside the house upon his return and got out to open Louis' door for him. A moment later the front door of the house was opened by Athos to let him in, and Louis stopped on the steps and turned round, calling out to Porthos.

"I'm disappointed in your behaviour today Porthos. I shall have to think very hard about your continued employment here, if you're going to endanger me with such reckless driving. I have the safety of my wife and child to consider you know." He swept inside, gesturing to an astonished looking Athos to shut the door immediately behind him.

Thunderstruck, Porthos stood and gaped at the closed door. Louis had seemed entirely sincere in his indignation, as if he'd turned the circumstances of the morning around in his head to fit his own version of events. Worse, Porthos realised with a shock that he'd deliberately waited until he'd had an audience to deliver his admonition. Was he hoping that Athos would make trouble for him? 

As Porthos went miserably to put the car away, an even nastier thought occurred to him. If Louis did decide to fire him, there was a ninety nine percent probability he would make Athos do it. Even if Athos tried to defend him, there would be little he could do faced with a direct order.

He locked up the garage and trailed back into the house, worrying about what would happen. By the time he reached the kitchen Athos was there waiting for him, and indicated with a jerk of his head that Porthos should follow him into the pantry.

Afraid that this was the end come already, Porthos waited tensely for Athos to speak, but Athos just gestured helplessly when Porthos remained silent.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?"

Porthos looked up. "He didn't explain?"

Athos shook his head. "Refused to say a word." 

Porthos relaxed a fraction, but realised this left him with the uncomfortable task of relating his own actions. "It's going to sound like sour grapes," he admitted defensively. "And my version don't exactly fit with his."

Athos came forward and took Porthos' hands in his. "What happened Porthos? Talk to me," he urged.

Reassured by Athos' softer tone, Porthos explained everything that had happened that morning, and what Louis had done. By the time he'd finished Athos looked furious.

"That man's a snake in the grass, and one day he'll get what's coming to him," Athos said tightly. 

"You do believe me then?" Porthos said anxiously. Athos looked pained, and to Porthos' surprise embraced him briefly but tightly. 

"Yes. Unfortunately, I would believe anything of that man," Athos said grimly, pulling back again. 

"What do I do?" Porthos asked. "Do you think he really will fire me?"

"I think it depends on how this weekend goes," Athos said. "If it's a success, and he's happy, he's quite liable to have forgotten all about today. And to engage another chauffeur would be a nuisance for him, when he needs the car. My advice, keep your head down and don't make a fuss about him lying, however much that sticks in your throat. With any luck, it'll all blow over." 

Porthos nodded reluctantly. "And if it doesn't?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Athos took hold of his hand again and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Just know that I believe you, and that nobody here will take his part against yours, whatever he claims about you."

"Thank you." Porthos felt a flood of relief, to know that he still had Athos' unwavering support. He sighed. 

"I'd better go and find Serge. I owe him an apology for nearly running him down this morning."

Athos kissed him quickly on the cheek as he walked to the door. "Chin up," he whispered, and it was an altogether happier Porthos who wandered down to the Lodge.

\--

Preparations for the house party were keeping everyone busy, and even Porthos found his mood lifting when the day itself dawned. The kitchen was crammed with trays of delicacies, and Constance had rapped him on the knuckles with a spoon twice that morning for trying to steal one when he thought she wasn't looking. The house was filled with fresh flowers, all the furniture had been polished to within an inch of its life, and the guest rooms were made up and waiting.

Most people were arriving under their own steam, but by late morning Porthos was dispatched to the station to pick up the Savoys, who had some distance to travel and had decided to come down by train.

His instruction to meet the train had come via Athos, Louis seemingly avoiding all contact, which suited Porthos fine. He was also glad to be out in the fresh air, and drove the route into town with extreme care and attention.

To his relief it all went without a hitch, and he collected the couple in good time, looking them over with interest. They seemed an oddly mismatched couple, the husband considerably older than his wife, although there seemed to be a genuine affection between them. Both were courteous to Porthos, and he arrived back feeling hopeful that they would at least give a good report of him, if asked. 

He pulled up behind another car which had apparently also just arrived, as Aramis was hurrying down the steps to help them with their luggage. This must be the Richelieus Porthos thought, as a rather gaunt man unfolded himself from behind the wheel. It was an open top model, and a beautiful woman in a headscarf was giving Aramis a dazzling smile as he helped her out of the passenger seat.

"Good morning Mrs Richelieu," Aramis said warmly. "Welcome to the manor."

"Thank you. And please, call me Adele," she invited, laying a hand on Aramis' arm. He looked both startled and starstruck, but her husband collected her with a firm arm around her waist.

"Now my dear, that's not strictly appropriate, you'll make the poor man uncomfortable." He gave Aramis a smile that managed to convey that the lovely Adele was strictly off limits. "She's not used to the higher echelons of society I'm afraid," he murmured. "You must forgive her."

Porthos sidled up behind Aramis, who was staring after them as they walked into the house, closely followed by the Savoys who had greeted Richelieu as an old friend.

"Down boy," he grinned, and Aramis jumped. "Aren't you in enough trouble for one lifetime?"

"Looking never hurt anyone," Aramis objected, although he couldn't stop the blush that went right to the tips of his ears. "She's beautiful."

At this point Athos appeared at the top of the steps and scowled down at them. "Are you two being paid to gossip, or to pull your weight?" he asked scathingly. 

Aramis hurried inside with his arms full of bags, but Athos came down to where Porthos was standing and handed him a set of keys. "When you've finished bringing that lot in, can you take Richelieu's car round to the garage? " 

"Yes, of course." Porthos stared up towards the house. "What is it with ugly old men and beautiful young women?" he pondered.

Athos smirked. "I wouldn't know, I've never seen the appeal in either to be honest. Oh, while you were out you missed the arrival of Rochefort, I know you were keen to meet him. He's in the library, drinking Louis' best port like it was water."

"Just one to go then. Oh, here we go, this must be her." 

They looked down the driveway as the growl of an approaching engine materialised into a sleek blue single seater car that shot rocket-like through the gates and came to a halt inches from the steps, spraying gravel like a rain of hail that pattered against the sides of both other cars.

A striking dark-haired woman climbed out and marched straight into the house, ignoring Aramis' attempt at a welcome as he appeared in the doorway, and merely waving imperiously at her bag strapped to the back of the car.

"What in the name of God is she doing here?" Athos whispered, mostly to himself.

Porthos looked at him, surprised to see he'd gone pale. "I thought you said you didn't know her?"

Athos shook his head. "Not by the name Milady de Winter. She was Anne de Breuil when I first met her, although she was going by Charlotte Backson the second time. I - worked with her, upon occasion."

"In the war?" 

Athos nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on where she'd disappeared inside the house. 

"She was a spy," he said under his breath, as if she might even now overhear him. "And, I could never prove it, but I strongly suspected she was a double agent."

Porthos raised his eyebrows. "And you - worked with her?" he clarified, unable to entirely suppress an unreasonable spike of jealousy. 

"Yes." Athos finally looked round at him and smiled slightly, as if guessing his thoughts. "She tried to seduce me once, for some information," he murmured. "She never could understand why I wasn't interested."

Porthos relaxed, smiling back at him. "She'll be surprised to see you."

Athos sighed. "Yes. I've a feeling this is going to be rather humiliating."

Porthos patted him on the back. "What's she doing here?"

"I have no idea. Knowing her, probably trying to swindle Louis out of his investments. Good luck to her I say, they deserve each other."

"Sounds like we've got a right houseful," Porthos mused. "You going to help me with these bags then, or what?"

"Some people should know their place," Athos retorted, but he picked up two suitcases with a smile.

"Oh I know my place," Porthos grinned. Then as he passed Athos with the rest of the bags, he leaned in and whispered in his ear. "It's between your legs." 

\--

By volunteering to serve the gentlemen gathered in the library Athos had managed to avoid an encounter with Milady for most of the afternoon, but when the group gathered for pre-dinner cocktails, there was no more escaping it.

Porthos entered the drawing room at his side, smart in a new suit ordered for the occasion. Athos had pointed out he couldn't very well wait on people in his chauffeur's uniform and made the necessary arrangements. His collar was chafing, but the slow up and down look of approval Athos had given him when he saw him in it, had made Porthos hot with anticipation.

Louis was flitting between groups like a particularly annoying butterfly, asking people if they had everything they wanted without actually making things happen if they didn't. 

"Have you all got drinks? You should all have drinks. Where's Athos, he should be here somewhere." 

"Athos? I knew an Athos once," Milady drawled, her back to the door. Louis had already latched onto another group, so her comment was vaguely directed to Lord Savoy. "I sometimes wonder what became of him."

"Then today will be no doubt enlightening for both of us," Athos said quietly, and she spun round to stare at him in open surprise. 

" _Athos_. It is you. Whatever are you doing here?"

"I work here," Athos said dryly, as she looked him up and down incredulously.

"You know each other?" asked Savoy, sounding sceptical. Milady curled her lip dismissively. 

"We knew each other. A long time ago."

Savoy grunted disinterestedly and wandered off towards his wife, but Milady lingered, still staring at Athos as if he might suddenly do something surprising.

"What are you really doing here?" she asked curiously.

Athos spread his hands. "I work here. I told you. I've been here four years, more or less. Ask, if you like."

"As a _butler_ though?"

"As you say."

"Good lord." Her smile became mocking, but Athos merely stood there and endured it. "Well, each to their own I suppose. I'm jolly glad I've never felt the need to enter service. I say, this means you have to fetch me a drink, doesn't it? I'll have a martini. Perhaps you recall how I take it?"

"Dry and bitter?" Athos suggested. "Funny, I wonder why I should remember that."

Milady's eyes flashed with something closer to amusement than anger, as if glad to discover he hadn't been entirely neutered by his odd choice of occupation. "Now now, you can hardly speak to me in that fashion. Not any more. Not unless you'd like your employer to know some unpalatable truths about you."

"I could probably tell him more about you," Athos retorted. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"Investments, my dear."

"Oh really? Making, or stealing?" 

"I resent that implication. Incidentally, I assume you are aware that your swarthy friend over there is eavesdropping on us?"

Porthos, who'd been busying himself with a tray of decanters on the sideboard so he could remain firmly within earshot, tensed in awkward embarrassment at being caught out, but Athos brushed it off.

"I find it best to have corroboration in all things, at times like this," he murmured.

"Athos, I'm hurt. You don't trust me?" Milady's teasing was interrupted by the return of Louis.

"Ah, Athos, there you are. Is he looking after you Milady?"

"Actually, I'm dying of thirst."

"If only," Athos muttered, too quietly for Louis to catch it but Porthos heard, and so did Milady. He moved off to fetch her drink before she could complain again, and Porthos edged over to him.

"You okay?" Porthos muttered.

"Yes," Athos sighed. "That wasn't actually as bad as I'd feared. I'd still love to know what she's up to though. Investments, she says. In what? Louis' got more pies than he's got fingers for."

"Who cares?" Porthos said. "Forget her. Just keep in mind you promised to get me out of this suit later."

Athos gave him a guarded look from under his lashes that was still enough to make Porthos need to plunge his hand into the ice bucket to stave off his immediate and awkward erection.

\--

As cocktails were served and the guests mingled and chatted, Porthos looked them over with an interested eye. Rochefort proved to be a weasely looking man, who to his surprise had locked on to Lady Anne and remained, limpet-like, at her side for the whole hour. This move was drawing a certain number of dark looks from Aramis, but as he seemed to be managing to keep Adele's glass topped up at the same time with a level of attention that bordered on devotion, Porthos wasn't too worried about him.

Anne looked a little uncomfortable with Rochefort's persistent and increasingly drunken conversational gambits, but remained polite and affable. Milady moved seamlessly between the different conversations with an unobtrusive ease, entertaining herself by occasionally holding her glass out without looking and waiting pointedly until Athos refilled it, a task he executed in silence and without complaint, determined not to give her the satisfaction from seeing it annoyed him. 

Adele proved to be the life and soul of the party, talking cheerfully to anyone and everyone, and either oblivious to or ignoring those few looks, mostly from Rochefort and Louis, that suggested they considered her not quite of their class. Porthos wondered how Richelieu felt. He didn't look like a man to be crossed, and if he thought people were looking down on his wife, he might be inclined to make trouble.

When they filed in for dinner, despite the various undercurrents, the mood was still a merry one. 

"I want Athos to serve me," Milady declared, looking up with a smile that suggested exactly how much she was enjoying having Athos in such a subservient role.

"Seem to recall she said something similar the last time we met," Athos muttered under his breath, and Porthos had to fake a coughing fit to disguise his unprofessional laughter.

Rochefort looked up briefly from monopolising Anne's attention and glanced hopefully round the room. "Have you still got that pretty little parlourmaid?" he asked Louis. "Charming creature."

"Fleur? Yes, she's still with us," Louis nodded. "I must say I concur. She rarely speaks, I do find that agreeable." This was said with a rather pointed look at where Adele was talking nineteen to the dozen to Christine Savoy across the table with total disregard for accepted conventions.

"Doesn't want competition in the airhead stakes, I'll be bound," Richelieu muttered, causing Savoy to snort into his first spoonful of soup.

Dinner proceeded thankfully without incident, with Athos, Aramis and Porthos serving the delicious looking and seemingly endless courses being sent up from the kitchen. 

Porthos hoped his stomach wouldn't start rumbling. It was hours since he'd eaten, and he wasn't sure when the three of them would get a chance to snatch their own meal. By the time everyone had finished his back and feet were aching too, from spending half the time standing attentively silent and still at the end of the room in case he was needed.

He was incredibly grateful when Louis finally placed his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair.

"Shall we adjourn? We have certain matters of business to discuss. Athos, would you bring the port up to the study please?"

"Yes my lord." 

Louis, Savoy and Rochefort headed for the stairs, and so did Milady. Rochefort stopped and looked at her in condescending surprise. "I think you misunderstand. The _ladies_ will be convening in the drawing room."

She regarded him with a certain distaste. "I think _you_ misunderstand. It is my business proposal that you are being invited to hear."

Waiting patiently to see where they were needed, Athos and Porthos exchanged a look. Porthos felt cross that Louis had apparently selected his guests on the basis of potential business partners rather than Anne's actual friends, on a weekend that was supposed to be about celebrating her pregnancy. Of the women invited, both Milady and Adele were strangers to her.

Rochefort openly sneered at the suggestion a woman might have a worthwhile business plan. "Victor? You're not condoning this are you?"

To his annoyance Savoy rocked back on his heels and shrugged. "Won't hurt to hear what the gel's got to say. I don't have a problem with her joining us. Or are you afraid she'll discover you've drunk all the port already?" he smirked, and Rochefort flushed, stamping up the stairs ahead of them without waiting for Louis to lead the way.

"Well. This does promise to be entertaining." Louis beamed round at everyone and followed Rochefort up the stairs. Savoy courteously gestured for Milady to go next, and the four of them ascended to the first floor, followed at a distance by Athos holding a tray with decanter and glasses.

"Are you not joining them sir?" Porthos asked Richelieu, who'd been watching all this in silence.

The man's eyebrows disappeared into his grey hair. "Invest with that lot? Do I look insane?"

Just then Adele stuck her head out of the drawing room and called to him. "Armand! We need a fourth for bridge. You will join us, won't you darling?"

For a second Richelieu caught Porthos' eye. "I retract that statement," he sighed. "Apparently I am insane." 

\--


	6. Chapter 6

With half the party ensconced upstairs, leaving the others happily playing cards Porthos and Aramis escaped to the kitchen for a much needed meal. A few minutes later Athos appeared as well and joined them at the table, although he turned down food in favour of a large glass of water which he drank thirstily.

"I'd forgotten how bloody knackering it was just waiting around for hours," Porthos groaned, stretching his back and shoulders with considerable relief.

"You're out of condition," Aramis smirked. "That's what comes from a job where you get to sit on your arse all day."

"Gentlemen," Athos warned, indicating with a nod that Constance and Fleur were in the next room, and consequently there should a hundred percent less swearing happening.

"Glad I'm out of it," d'Artagnan called smugly across from where he was sitting by the hearth with a plate of left-over canapés.

"One of the only times in life perpetually smelling of horse will come as an advantage," Aramis retorted, and Porthos laughed heartily. 

"You not eating?" he asked Athos, nudging his ankle with his foot. "You should have something."

Athos shook his head. "To be honest, I have no appetite. I'll be glad when they've all gone to bed, and I can have a proper drink," he admitted.

"Who is that de Winter woman?" Aramis asked curiously "She was running you ragged."

"Our paths crossed a couple of times during the war," Athos muttered, and Porthos could tell he didn't want to expand upon it.

"Surprised you noticed anything other than the batting eyelashes of the lovely Adele," Porthos teased, drawing Aramis' attention away. 

"She's a nice person," Aramis said with dignity. "And rather out of her depth, I felt." 

"But paddling for all she was worth, eh?" Porthos grinned. "You want to be careful, Richelieu looks like he could arrange to have you sunk in the foundations of the nearest bridge." He shot a surreptitious glance at Athos, who was quietly rubbing his temples. He wondered if he had a headache, and wished they were alone so he could comfort him. There was no chance of any of them getting to bed for ages yet.

A couple of hours passed with only minor interruptions from the drawing room. It was this group that broke up first, Anne claiming weariness and everyone else respectfully agreeing they too would have an early night. 

Porthos wondered if she was going up this early to avoid seeing Rochefort again that evening. He'd laughed at Aramis when he'd grumbled about the man in the kitchen earlier, but secretly agreed that there was something slightly unwholesome about the way he'd been all over Anne. Whilst Richelieu had kept a proprietorial eye on Adele all night, Louis hadn't seemed to even notice Rochefort's creeping, focussing his own attentions firmly on Milady.

They'd just cleared the empty glasses from the drawing room when the study bell rang, and Athos went to see what they needed. He returned shortly with the news they wanted coffee and a tray of food sending up, and Constance groaned, having just put everything away.

"How's it going up there?" Porthos wondered, and Athos made a face.

"Not well if you ask me. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife when I walked in, and I'm not talking about the cigar smoke. I get the impression that whatever she's suggested, they're at odds over. If I had to guess, probably regarding who gets the biggest slice of the profits."

When the tray was ready Athos picked it up and Porthos nodded to him. "Want a hand with all that?"

"Wouldn't mind a bit of help with the doors," Athos agreed, and they set off together. 

As they approached the study they could hear raised voices within, even from behind the closed door. 

"The war's over Louis, you have to admit the damn place is making a loss," Savoy bellowed. "The lady's right, this is the time to switch."

"And how am I to know changing the production methods won't lose me even more?" came Louis' petulant tones. "Besides, it would mean laying off at least half the workforce."

"What do you care about that?" Rochefort asked, sounding surprised.

"I don't. But it would make me unpopular."

Savoy snorted derisively. "Lord save us, the man thinks he's popular now."

Athos and Porthos looked at each other, and Porthos knocked on the door. The voices fell silent immediately, and he pushed it open, holding it for Athos to walk through with the tray, and following him in to collect up the empties. 

Athos had been right about the smoke, the air was a thick fug and Porthos had to resist the urge to cough. All three men were smoking cigars, and Milady was sporting an elegant cigarette holder that gleamed in the lamplight.

"Ah, thank you Athos," said Louis distractedly. "You may retire now, if you wish, I've a feeling this discussion will go on for some time yet."

"Thank you your lordship," Athos replied, bowing politely. "That's very kind." Suspecting it was more from a desire not to be overheard than any altruistic motives, Louis having kept him up half the night at his beck and call on several previous occasions.

He returned downstairs with Porthos. 

"What do you reckon to all that then?" Porthos murmured as they paced along the corridor side by side.

"Not my place to speculate," Athos said shortly. "Although at a guess nothing that means anything good. Louis owns a number of factories, it sounded like they're trying to streamline processes, cut costs."

"Meaning jobs," said Porthos darkly. 

"Exactly." Athos sighed. "I told you he was into munitions during the war. You heard them, there's hardly much of a market for that right now. And there are probably restrictions on him selling abroad." He gave a bleak smile. "Best thing as far as Louis' bank account's concerned, would be another war."

"Well let's all pray that doesn't happen," said Porthos fervently. He caught Athos' hand and drew him into the shadow of a doorway. "You heard what he said. Let's go to bed eh?"

To his disappointment Athos shook his head. "I want to finish clearing up, or it'll have to be done in the morning."

Porthos sighed, but bowed to the inevitable. "Do you want a hand?"

"No, it's alright. You go to bed, and tell Aramis he can go up too. I'll be along as soon as I can."

"You better had," Porthos murmured, and pulled Athos in with an arm round his waist and kissed him thoroughly.

Athos flushed, and fended him off. "Away with you. You'll get both of us locked up." He hurried off back into the house and Porthos returned to the kitchen.

Aramis and d'Artagnan were still in residence, and Porthos joined them for a nightcap rather than going straight to bed. Athos came in and out a couple of times, bearing dirty glasses he'd found on windowsills and various dirty plates and assorted detritus of the evening, refusing a repeated offer of help from Porthos on the grounds he could do it more efficiently alone.

"Let him," Aramis yawned. "He likes to feel martyred."

"On the other hand, there's nothing stopping you from doing the washing up," Athos replied, and Porthos laughed at Aramis' expression.

It was almost one o'clock in the morning when Athos finally came in and sat down with a tired sigh. D'Artagnan poured him a drink and he'd just raised the glass gratefully to his lips when there was a jangling from the bell board.

He groaned. "Tell me that's not the study?"

"No." Aramis was squinting up at the label. "It's the Rose room."

"Milady," Athos noted. He considered the whisky in his glass, then threw it back in one swallow and held it out for more. "One of the girls will go."

A few minutes later they were just trying to work up the energy to climb the steep staircase up to bed when from somewhere further up in the house a door banged, and was swiftly followed by a woman's piercing scream.

\--

The four men raced up through the house, and found Fleur staggering down the hallway looking distressed and near tears, as various doors opened and curious faces peered out.

"Fleur! What is it, what's happened?" Athos demanded, taking her by the shoulders. 

"He - he - " Fleur gestured behind her in mild hysterics. "He exposed himself to me!"

At this point Rochefort appeared in the hallway behind her, trying to knot a dressing gown around himself and looking furious. 

"I did not!" He blustered. "The little bitch is lying. She walked in on me."

"What were you doing in his room in the first place?" Athos asked in exasperation, remembering distinctly having told her not to go anywhere near the man.

"I answered the bell," she stammered, looking more frightened than ever now that Athos was snapping at her as well.

"But why - " Athos looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Hang on, that's not the room you were given," he said to Rochefort. "Milady was put in the Rose room."

"He asked if he could swap," came Milady's voice from behind him. They all turned to discover she'd emerged from a room on the other side of the hallway, looking even more glamorous in a long silk robe than she had in her evening dress. "Something about the view being better on that side of the house." She gave a meaningful nod to the adjacent door, which turned out to be the room belonging to Anne.

Rochefort spun round to glare at her, with the unfortunate effect that his badly tied dressing gown fell open again.

"Ugh, Rochefort, put it away, do," Milady drawled. "You'll give everyone a craving for cocktail sausages."

Furious and speechless, Rochefort turned his back on everyone and retreated into his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Athos guided Fleur away down the hall, with Porthos and Aramis hurrying after.

"I'm sorry," Fleur apologised tearfully, still not quite certain that she wasn't in trouble. "I didn't know."

"It's all right," Athos assured her, once they reached the kitchen. "I believe you. Are you okay? He didn't try and touch you?" 

She shook her head. "He was just standing there behind the bed, and when I came in he walked out and - " she screwed her eyes shut as if she could blot out the mental image. "It was horrible."

"Reckon I'd've screamed as well," Porthos told her with a grin. "Seeing that. Enough to put you off your dinner."

She smiled at him gratefully, and he gave her a hug. 

"D'Artagnan, will you take Fleur up to Constance?" Athos said quietly. "Tell her what happened. And then leave them together," he added pointedly. "Aramis, Porthos, you should go to bed. Although how any of us are supposed to sleep in this madhouse I have no idea."

"What are you going to do?" Porthos asked after the others had gone up, confused that Athos didn't seem to intend coming with them.

Athos had a look of grim determination in his eye. "I'm going to have a little word with Rochefort," he said. "Explain the facts of life to him."

"You're not going to break his fingers are you?" Porthos asked, only half joking.

"What I break depends entirely on how willing he is to listen to reason."

\--

Porthos waited anxiously alone in his room, ears straining to catch Athos' footsteps in the passage. After what felt like a lifetime but was actually only about twenty minutes, he finally heard someone outside and sighed with relief.

He was saved the dilemma of having to decide whether to go and see if Athos was alright by a discreet tap on his door, and he hauled it open to find Athos standing on the threshold.

"Athos." He pulled him inside and closed and locked the door behind him. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." Athos crossed to the bed and sat down heavily. "He wasn't there."

"What do you mean he wasn't there?" 

Athos shrugged, pulling off his suit jacket and tie. "Just what I say. The room was empty. I wasn't about to start knocking on doors."

Porthos wrinkled his nose, catching Athos' drift. Rochefort might have been in with Lady Anne. Although surely that was unlikely, if it was Aramis she was having an affair with? Porthos reminded himself that Athos didn't actually know that, and sighed. Everything seemed to be getting very complicated all of a sudden.

"So where have you been all this time?" Porthos asked, sitting down next to him. He'd changed into pyjamas while he waited, but had been too anxious to go to bed.

"I had another drink before I came up," Athos admitted. "I'm sorry, I knew you were probably waiting for me but - after today I just needed a moment alone to collect my thoughts."

"I'm sorry." Porthos immediately felt guilty. "Would you rather just go to bed?"

Athos shook his head. "Honestly, the thought of being with you is all that's kept me going today," he murmured. "Unless you'd rather I went? Are you too tired?"

"For you, never." Porthos took his hand and kissed Athos on the cheek. Athos turned his face towards him and kissed Porthos on the mouth, and they sank into a warm and passionate embrace.

Porthos was soon hard, his erection pushing out the front of his flannel pyjamas. Athos slipped his hand inside the waistband and took hold of him, wrapping his fingers around the thick shaft and stroking him with an unashamed pleasure.

"God, Athos," Porthos croaked, pulling at the buttons of his shirt until he could kiss his way down Athos' bare chest. "If you only knew how much I need you."

"I need you too," Athos moved his hands to curl his fingers in Porthos' hair, holding his head up so he could kiss him. "Will you make love to me tonight?" Athos whispered. "I'll understand, if you don't want to."

Porthos looked at him with wide eyes, then nodded vigorously. They'd never really done more than toy with the idea of this, but if Athos wanted it then Porthos found he was more than ready to rise to the challenge. "Tell me what to do," he whispered back, and Athos pulled him into his arms, kissing him intensely. 

"Are you sure?" he breathed, and Porthos nodded again.

"I'm sure. I'm yours. I love you Athos." 

Before he removed the rest of his clothes, Athos briefly slipped next door to his own room and returned carrying a small jar of cold cream. Guessing its intended use, Porthos raised an eyebrow and grinned.

"You suggesting I've got wrinkly balls?"

Athos smiled at him. "Let's just say it's good for preventing a chapped arse."

Porthos threw a hand over his mouth to stifle the cackle of laughter that threatened to break out. While Athos' empty room was between them and Aramis, d'Artagnan was only a wall away on the other side, and Porthos knew he was in there, had heard him moving about earlier. Hopefully by now he was safely asleep.

Porthos watched in building anticipation as Athos got undressed, lying back and stroking himself as he watched the show. He'd shed his pyjamas and was lying with one knee hooked up, hand moving lazily on his cock. The sight of Athos' erection emerging from his underwear was enough to make him bite his lip, shifting impatiently with need. 

He'd never thought he would have this, had certainly never dreamed of being with a man as relaxed about the possibilities as Athos. Too afraid of being arrested to make contact in any of the city's notorious hook up spots, Porthos had in any case been mostly revolted by the idea of sex with an anonymous stranger. This though - the sight of Athos naked left him breathless, and he held out his arms in silent supplication.

Athos climbed stiffly onto the bed and knelt over him, straddling his legs and finally settling in his lap. They kissed each other again, Porthos letting his hands roam freely over Athos' body, never tiring of being able to touch him like this. His cock was squashed against Athos' and they pushed against each other as they kissed, breathing each other in like air.

"I love you," Porthos whispered, overwhelmed with feelings and longing.

"I love you too." 

Athos had spoken so quietly Porthos thought for a second he'd imagined the words he wanted to hear, but then he looked up and saw the sentiment reflected in Athos' face. 

"Athos?"

Athos nodded confirmation. "I love you," he whispered again. "Of course I love you. How could I not?" He cupped Porthos' face in his hands and kissed him.

With a shaky laugh that was more than half a sob, Porthos wrapped his arms around Athos' waist and kissed back, hard and demanding and above all ecstatic.

Their kisses turned to more visceral needs and they lay down, rutting and stroking and thrusting together, too far gone to care about the squeak of the bed springs or the occasional inadvertent moan.

Eventually Athos reached for the jar of cold cream, and Porthos watched with rapt attention as he worked slick fingers up inside himself, trying to remember everything so that next time he would be able to help. When Athos reached out to him, Porthos had to shove his own wrist against his mouth to stop from crying out as Athos' firm fingers circled his cock, making him harder than he'd thought was possible and leaving him wet and slippery. 

"Do you have a preference how we do this?" Athos asked quietly, and Porthos could hardly do more than blink back at him. 

"I don't even _know_ how we do this," Porthos confessed, giving him a wide and helpless smile. "I'm in your hands. Teach me. Show me. Love me."

Athos smiled and pushed him down against the pillows, climbing back over his legs. Porthos gazed up at him in adoration, his expression turning to one of amazement as he realised what Athos was going to do.

Slowly, gently, Athos eased himself down onto Porthos' rigid cock. Porthos tensed, afraid to move in case he did something wrong, but the sensation of Athos sinking down on him was mindblowing, and he trusted Athos to know what he was doing.

"Okay?" Athos whispered. Porthos nodded hastily.

"You?"

Athos smiled beatifically at him. "Yes. God, yes." He leaned forward until his lips were brushing Porthos' ear. "Fuck me," he breathed.

Athos started moving then, rising and falling on Porthos' cock with a roll of his hips that Porthos thought might actually send him insane with desire. Freed from his initial paralysis Porthos started moving with him, thrusting up to meet him on the downstroke. It was awkward with him laid out on the bed though, and after a little experimentation they settled on Porthos in a kneeling position, Athos straddling him all over again and this time riding him hard, his arms around Porthos' neck and his face buried in Porthos' hair. 

"God. God, Athos," Porthos gasped, feeling his climax approaching and knowing nothing in the world could stop it. It was too much, the feeling of Athos clenching around him, the scent of his hot, rocking body, the taste of his lips, his tongue - Porthos came hard, spilling into Athos with a series of final short jerky thrusts. They were enough to finish Athos too, who promptly came all over Porthos' chest with a drawn-out groan.

Exhausted, and with the creeping and horrified suspicion they might have been entirely too loud for their own safety, they sagged against each other, kissing softly. Athos climbed off, and they cleaned each other up before rolling back into Porthos' bed and holding each other tightly under the blanket.

Into the silence came a sudden creak of floorboards, and they both tensed, freezing into a silent, guilty stillness. A doorknob rattled and a hinge creaked, the piercingly prolonged sort of noise that only happens when someone's trying to be really quiet. This was followed by the sound of a door closing softly, and then a minute later the squeak of bedsprings next door.

"The little bastard," Athos whispered in sudden realisation. "He's been in with Constance."

They stared at each other, before relaxing in abrupt relief as they realised they were unlikely to have been overheard after all.

"You can't have a go at him," Porthos pointed out with a grin. "Not after what we just did."

"True," Athos conceded, smiling at him. "Did you like it?"

"I loved it," Porthos promised. "And I love you."

"I love you too," Athos echoed, his lips shaping the words against Porthos' mouth as they settled in to sleep. "I love you too."

\--

"That's strange." 

Porthos looked up as Aramis came back into the kitchen the next morning, carrying the breakfast tray he'd taken up to Lord Louis not five minutes earlier.

"Didn't he want it?" Porthos asked, surprised. 

"What was wrong with it?" Constance demanded, looking both irritated and anxious. Everyone was a little frayed this morning through lack of sleep, although Porthos was mostly feeling warm and fuzzy every time he remembered Athos' heartfelt declaration of the night before.

"Nothing. I mean - he wasn't there for me to give it to," Aramis said, looking puzzled.

"Not like Louis to be up and about this early," Athos observed. 

"That's just it - his bed looked like it hadn't been slept in." 

Everyone stared at him. "What do you mean?" Athos demanded. "Are you saying he stayed up all night?"

"Maybe he fell asleep in the study," Porthos suggested. "He was drinking enough to stun a horse."

"True." Athos frowned. "Thinking about it, he didn't appear last night, did he? Most people looked out of their rooms when Fleur screamed, but Louis didn't."

"Neither did Anne," Aramis pointed out. "Maybe they were - you know." He looked annoyed by the idea, but as it happened the theory was blown out of the water a few minutes later when Fleur came back from delivering Anne's tray, and reported that her ladyship had been alone in her room.

With six guests to take care of nobody gave the question much more thought until all the breakfast trays had been collected again and a start made on preparations for the rest of the day.

"Has anyone been up to the study?" Athos asked suddenly. "I mean, I suppose we should actually make sure he's alright?"

He was standing in the breakfast room with Aramis and Porthos, laying out coffee and fruit juice and a tray of Constance's fresh rolls for anyone who came down still hungover and peckish.

As they both shook their heads, for the second time in less than eight hours a piercing scream echoed through the house.

Athos gritted his teeth. "If that's _bloody_ Rochefort again - "

Aramis shook his head, looking suddenly pale. "That wasn't Fleur. That was Anne!"

They raced upstairs towards the continuing screams. Aramis was the first to get there with Porthos right behind him, finding Anne standing in the doorway to Louis' study with her hand over her mouth, screams turning to horrified sobs. Athos arrived a second or two behind them, not able to run quite as quickly with his impaired movement. 

Aramis immediately took Anne into his arms, comforting her softly, and she clung to him in keening despair.

Athos and Porthos stepped past them to see what had prompted such an outpouring of horror. It didn't take them long to find out - sprawled on the floor of the study in a pool of blood, was Louis. He was on his back, eyes open and staring, and a thin but wicked looking wooden spar was protruding from his throat.

"Get her out of here," Athos ordered, waving a hand at the moaning Anne without looking. Aramis drew her away down the hall, but they could already hear more doors opening and voices approaching.

"Is he - ?" Porthos ventured, although it was painfully obvious that Louis was very very dead, and by the looks of him had been for some hours.

Nevertheless, Athos knelt by his side, careful to avoid the sticky pool of blood, and felt for a pulse. He shook his head. 

"Dead as a doornail." He remained crouching, eyes roaming over the spar sticking out of Louis' throat. There were thin strings trailing from it, and tiny pieces of wood. "This is the mast of his ship," Athos said, hand hovering over it without quite touching.

Porthos looked over to the table where the model boat normally took pride of place. It was lying on the floor beneath it, one side staved in and missing its mast. He looked back at Louis, and winced.

"Shouldn't we close his eyes?"

Athos straightened up. "I don't think we should touch anything," he said grimly. 

"What's happened?" Milady's voice cut across them, and she peered over Porthos' shoulder until she could see. "Good Lord, is that Louis?"

"Unfortunately yes." 

"Gosh." Milady looked down at the body dispassionately then back at Athos. "Did you kill him?"

"No!" Athos eyed her speculatively. "Did you?" he shot back.

"No." She smiled placidly. "How interesting. I wonder who did."

Rochefort was the next to arrive, demanding to know what all the bloody screaming was about because he had a headache. When he discovered Louis was dead, his reaction was more one of irritation than grief.

"Well that's a bloody nuisance. All that tedious business talk for nothing."

"Can we clear this room please?" Athos demanded exasperatedly. "I don't think anyone should come in here until the police arrive."

"Police!" Rochefort stared at him in shock, and Athos sighed.

"I'm presuming you don't imagine he did this to himself?" 

"Well - no, but - what are you suggesting man?"

Milady rolled her eyes. "He's suggesting that one of us is a killer, you idiot."

"What! But surely - burglars, or something - ?" Rochefort spluttered.

"Funny burglars, that didn't take anything," Porthos muttered, and got a filthy look from Rochefort in return.

"Well, it must have been one of the staff," Rochefort insisted. "You can hardly be accusing one of us?"

"I'm not accusing anyone," Athos said calmly. "I just want you all to leave this room, please. But not the house. Not until the police have agreed you can go."

"You can't expect us to stay here with a killer on the loose!" Rochefort cried. 

"You thought it was burglars a second ago," Porthos couldn't help putting in. Rochefort glared at him, then back at Athos as if Porthos wasn't worth his breath.

"You can't force us to stay here against our will."

"Oh, believe me I can," said Athos, and his voice was quiet but there was enough deadly certainty in it that even Rochefort hesitated.

"As much as I would enjoy watching you get your arm broken trying to leave, take my word for it he's entirely capable of following through on his promises," Milady sighed. "Come on Rochefort, let's go somewhere with fewer dead bodies."

"That's my brother you're talking about you callous bitch," Christine objected from the hallway, holding on to her husband's arm and looking deathly pale but controlled.

"Was, your brother," Milady said dismissively, and walked past her without a backward glance.

"There is coffee downstairs," Athos said, raising his voice so that the others gathered in the hall could also hear him. "I suggest you all make yourselves comfortable until the police get here. I will telephone for them now." He ushered everyone out and turned to Porthos. 

"I don't want anyone coming in here, would you mind standing guard on this door?"

Porthos nodded quickly. "Right you are." He closed it firmly behind him, and stood with his arms folded, trying not to think about the ruin of a man that was lying just beyond.

Athos followed the crowd downstairs and went into the telephone room to call for the police. Left alone in the corridor Porthos sighed, hoping it wouldn't be a long wait.

He'd been standing there about five minutes when footsteps made him look up. It was Aramis, looking shifty.

"How's Lady Anne?" Porthos asked, surprised that he'd left her alone.

"She insisted on taking a sedative," Aramis said worriedly. "I'm not entirely sure that's good for the baby."

"Probably better for it than her being hysterical," Porthos said. 

"Yes, perhaps." Aramis hesitated. "Look, I just wanted to say - I hope you don't think any of this - " he waved at the closed door - "has anything to do with - well, you know."

"The baby," said Porthos flatly. 

"Exactly. I'm just saying - I hope I can count on your continued discretion."

Porthos looked at him balefully. "I'll not drop you in it on purpose," he conceded. "But you'd better get your story straight. Because lying to Athos is one thing, but if I'm asked a direct question, I am not lying to the police."

Aramis looked like he wanted to argue, but to Porthos' relief finally nodded reluctantly. "Understood. Look, I'd better get back to Anne. Let me know if I'm needed?"

Porthos nodded, and watched Aramis hurry off down the corridor. He was lost in thought, and the hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"Athos!" He clutched his heart. "You scared me half to death."

"Sorry." Athos gave him a wry smile. "Just came to let you know that the police should be here in about twenty minutes. You okay to stand guard until then?"

"Yes, of course." Porthos nodded. "Thank you for trusting me."

Athos looked at him consideringly. "Mmmn. I'm glad you brought that up." He pursed his lips, seemingly choosing his words. 

"You know - being a butler, it's nine tenths discretion," Athos murmured. "I overhear a lot of things I find it best to pretend I haven't. But when there's been a murder - well little phrases like ' _lying to Athos_ '? They make me uncomfortable."

Porthos' heart sank as he realised Athos must have overheard some of his conversation with Aramis - and it didn't exactly paint him in a good light.

"Permission to say fuck?" he sighed.

Athos lips twitched. "Denied. Porthos, what's going on?"

"I can't tell you," he said miserably. 

Athos laid a hand on his arm. "Porthos - are you in some kind of trouble?" he asked softly. 

"What? No! No, not me."

Athos' expression hardened a little. "Aramis then," he concluded.

Porthos looked guilty. "It's not my secret to tell," he sighed. "I promised I wouldn't. But it's got nothing to do with all this, I swear."

"Do you make that claim from a position of knowledge, or assumption?" Athos asked, and Porthos squirmed.

"Assumption," he admitted.

Athos just looked at him, and his expression was cold enough to make Porthos' heart ache. "Look, alright, I'll tell you," Porthos blurted, unable to bear it any longer. "I'll tell you everything. But not here, not right now. Walls have too many ears round here, as you've just proved."

"Very well," Athos said finally. "I'll concede that now is not the best time for me to get worked up about you lying to me. Just tell me one thing, promises or not, is there anything you believe I need to know before the police arrive?"

Porthos shook his head. "It's probably better that you don't," he said miserably.

Tight-lipped, Athos turned and walked away without another word, and as Porthos watched him go he was cursing Aramis to hell and back, not to mention himself. Why hadn't he just told Athos everything from the start? Now Athos was hurt, and angry, and at the worst possible time. He could only pray that Athos forgave him.

\--


	7. Chapter 7

After a long, dull wait during which the clocks struck midday, Porthos finally heard someone arrive at the front door. He snuck along the passage to where he could look down over the banisters into the entrance hall, whilst still keeping an eye on the study.

Below he saw Athos open the door to admit three uniformed policemen and a fourth man in a plain dark coat, presumably a detective, who introduced himself.

"Good afternoon, my name is Inspector Treville. These are constables Jones, Andrews and Crenshaw."

"Thank you for coming sir, my name is Athos, I am the butler here."

"It was you that alerted the police?"

"Yes sir." 

Treville nodded. "I've been given your message, but perhaps you could give me a brief summary of events."

"His Lordship was found dead in his study this morning sir. I saw no way that his injuries could be self-inflicted, either accidentally or on purpose, so I sealed the room and telephoned yourselves."

"Who found the body? You?"

"No sir, Lady Anne, his wife. It was her screams that alerted the rest of us. She is resting now, it was a considerable shock for her."

"No doubt," murmured Treville. "Everything is as you found it?"

"I touched the body briefly, to check for life," Athos said. "Otherwise nothing has been disturbed. I have taken the precaution of setting a guard on the room, to ensure it remained closed until you got here."

At these words Porthos ducked back hurriedly out of sight, not wanting to be caught neglecting his post. Back at the door, he was pleased to realise he could still hear what was being said down below. 

"You an ex-military man, Athos?" Treville asked, looking him over consideringly, pleased that things seemed to be under control. He'd walked into some crime scenes where the weeping widow was still clinging to the corpse.

"Aren't we all, these days?" Athos replied, and Treville gave a short laugh.

"I suppose you're right. I will require a list of all people resident in the house please, one of my constables will take down the names." Treville paused. "I am assuming that no one has actually claimed responsibility for this?" 

"No sir."

Treville sighed. "Worth asking."

"I'm afraid there are rather a lot of us," called Milady, emerging from the drawing room and leaning in the doorway. "It was a house party you see. You're going to be positively lousy with suspects."

"I'm glad you find a man's death so diverting madam," Treville said shortly. "And your name is?"

"Milady de Winter. Friend of the deceased. Not guilty, for the record." 

Rochefort pushed past her rudely and stared at Treville with his hands on his hips. "Are you in charge? It's about time you got here. When can we go? I resent being kept cooped up here with a murderer on the loose."

"And you are, sir?" Treville asked wearily.

Rochefort bristled. "Rochefort. _Count_ Rochefort."

"I will need to speak to everyone present in the house," Treville said calmly, making a mental note to leave Rochefort until last on general principles. "You will get your turn, sir. At this stage I obviously can't make any promises regarding when you will be able to return home."

"But this is outrageous!" Rochefort exploded. "You can't think it was one of us? We were his friends man!"

"Implying what, exactly?" Treville asked.

"Well, clearly it's one of the staff." Rochefort gestured irritably at Athos. "Probably him, officious little bastard. Seemed very keen to chuck us all out of that room this morning. Something there he didn't want us to see, I'll be bound. And he's already admitted to interfering with the body."

Upstairs, Porthos was imagining putting his hands around Rochefort's scrawny neck and vigorously throttling him, but to his surprise it was Milady's mocking tones that floated up in Athos' defence.

"Seriously Rochefort? You're not actually suggesting the butler did it? You've been reading too many novels." 

Rochefort spluttered indignantly and stormed back into the drawing room amidst a certain amount of laughter.

"If we could get back to the matter at hand?" Treville asked testily, and everyone immediately fell quiet and looked guilty.

Athos lead him upstairs and Treville looked Porthos over with interest and badly disguised surprise. Porthos gritted his teeth and waiting for the inevitable comment on the colour of his skin, but to his relief it didn't come.

"This is Porthos du Vallon, his Lordship's chauffeur and, er, footman," Athos added, realising it would possibly look odd for a chauffeur to be chosen for this job. He opened the door and stood back, letting the policemen go in first. He and Porthos watched from the doorway, not having been invited in but not having been told to sod off either.

Having examined the body and the murder weapon, Treville looked around the room carefully. The dirty plates and glasses and full ashtrays were clearly from the night before, and Louis was in evening dress, his white shirt now mostly scarlet.

"Who was the last to see him alive?" Treville asked, without looking up.

"I couldn't say sir," Athos replied. "Porthos and I brought them up a late supper in here at around eleven o'clock last night, he was alive then obviously, and in the company of Miss de Winter, Rochefort, and Savoy. I believe they were discussing a business proposal. That was the last time I saw him. We didn't realise anything was amiss until Aramis - that's the other footman sir - took up his breakfast and found his bed hadn't been slept in."

"I'll need to interview everyone, can you arrange that for me? I'll need a quiet room somewhere. How many people are we talking about?"

Athos did a quick calculation. "Thirteen sir. Lady Anne, plus six guests and six members of staff. Oh, sorry, eight members of staff if you want to include the groundsman and his wife. She was helping with the cooking yesterday. But they live in the lodge, and weren't in the house overnight. Mary had gone home long before eleven, and he was still alive then." 

Treville nodded distractedly. "Thirteen eh? Unlucky for someone. Who do you think did it?" he asked suddenly, looking up sharply at Athos.

He looked taken aback. "I'm sure I couldn't say, sir."

"No theories?" Treville put his hands in his pockets and looked at Porthos. "What about you? Normally people can't wait to start pointing the finger. That chap downstairs - Rochefort was it? He's at it already."

Porthos shook his head obstinately. "No idea sir." 

Treville sighed. "Oh well. It'll all come out in the wash. We'll try for fingerprints, of course. But I imagine most people in the house could reasonably claim to have touched the ship model at some point?"

Athos looked dubious. "I wouldn't say that. Louis was very defensive of it. Fleur - that's the parlourmaid - wasn't even allowed to dust it."

"So, might be worthwhile then. It's a start, anyway." Treville looked around again, studying the room. A small table away from the main circle of chairs held a deck of cards and two empty glasses and he nodded thoughtfully.

"Looks like one of his Lordship's associates might have stayed on for a final nightcap," he mused. "If they'll admit to it, that should at least let us narrow down the time we're looking at. Of course, if they murdered him, they might be less forthcoming."

"If you want to see people separately I suggest using the library sir," Athos offered. 

"Excellent, thank you." Treville nodded. "I think I'd better see Lady Anne first, as she found the body. If she's well enough, could you please ask her to join me down there in, say, half an hour? I would like to have a look round the place first."

"Of course." Athos moved back out of the doorway. "If you need me, just ring the bell."

"We'd better tell Lady Anne she's needed," Athos murmured, indicating with a jerk of the head that Porthos should come with him. Porthos followed with mixed feelings; relief that Athos still wanted him along but mild apprehension from suspecting it was because Athos was waiting for the opportunity to shout at him.

As they moved across the landing they heard raised voices coming from the east wing. Giving each other a startled glance they hastened towards the confrontation, which turned out to be Rochefort and Aramis facing off in the doorway to Lady Anne's bedroom.

"What's going on?" Athos asked icily. Aramis looked guilty but defiant.

"Nothing."

Rochefort begged to differ. "I caught this man being utterly inappropriate," he spat. "Her husband's hardly cold and yet he was all over her. It's disgraceful. Where's that policeman, I want him arrested."

"I was _comforting_ her," Aramis started angrily, but Athos stepped in front of him. 

"Be quiet. Go downstairs. Check everyone has all they need."

"But - "

"That was not an invitation to start a debate."

Aramis took in Athos' expression and conceded defeat, throwing a last filthy glance at Rochefort as he left.

Anne gave Athos a rather pleading glance. "Aramis was not being inappropriate," she said to Rochefort with considerable dignity. "As he said, he was simply comforting me. This has been a most distressing day."

"He had his arm around you! You call that appropriate?" Rochefort spluttered.

"I call walking into my private rooms after the most cursory knock without waiting for an invitation more so," Anne said coldly. "You forget yourself."

Rochefort looked briefly furious at being reprimanded in front of Athos and Porthos, but quickly turned obsequious. "A thousand apologies. I was merely overly concerned for your wellbeing. I came to see how you were, that was all. I imagined I heard you bid me enter, I am sincerely sorry if I misheard. Forgive me."

"My lady," Athos broke in, feeling faintly nauseous at Rochefort's creeping tone. "The police are here, and have asked to speak with you first. An Inspector Treville is in charge, he would like to see you in the library, in half an hour."

Anne nodded. "I understand. I will be there."

"That will be all," Rochefort snapped, glaring at Athos, who didn't move until Anne nodded as well.

"Thank you Athos, you may go. I'll be fine," she added firmly, in response to his dubious glance at Rochefort. To his annoyance Rochefort followed Anne back into the room and closed the door in his face.

Porthos grimaced. "He shouldn't be alone in a lady's bedroom like that."

"Neither should Aramis have been," Athos said dryly. Porthos started towards the stairs, but Athos called him back. "Not that way. Come with me. We need to talk." He lead Porthos to the door that opened onto the servants' stair, and started to climb.

Athos took them up to his bedroom and closed the door quietly, before turning to face Porthos with the kind of tightly controlled expression that suggested he was either massively angry or hugely upset.

"So. Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked stonily. "What you've been lying to me about?"

Porthos felt wretched. "I've not lied - not exactly. Only about whether I knew anything. It's more what I haven't told you." 

Athos just folded his arms and looked expectant, and Porthos sighed.

"Alright. It's Lady Anne's baby."

"What about it?"

"Well Louis isn't - wasn't - the father."

Athos stared at him. "Then who - ?" Light dawned, and he looked horrified. "Dear God, tell me it's not Aramis." 

Porthos nodded miserably. 

"How long have you known this?" Athos demanded, one hand pushed distractedly into his hair.

"Since it was announced," Porthos admitted. "Aramis found out the same day. She told him it was his. For definite, like."

Athos had gone pale. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" he asked faintly. 

Porthos, shocked that the news had been taken so badly that it was making Athos swear without noticing, felt awful. 

"He made me promise," Porthos said awkwardly. "He was afraid you'd fire him."

Athos looked startled, as if Porthos' words had come as a slap in the face. "After all I've done?" he protested. "After I've gone out of my way, time after time, to protect you all, to do my best for you, and that's what he thinks? That I'd have thrown him out on the street?"

Porthos felt worse than ever. "He thought your first instinct would be to protect Anne's reputation."

"Pity his wasn't, then he wouldn't be in this mess," Athos retorted. "You realise what this means? If it comes out, he'll be Treville's prime suspect."

"What?" It was Porthos' turn to look stunned.

"Think about it. Father of her baby, recklessly in love with her? It's a fantastic motive."

"You don't actually believe he did it, do you?" Porthos ventured. He was sure Aramis was innocent, but couldn't quite read Athos.

Athos sighed. "For what it's worth, no, of course not. Stupid bastard would have been more likely to challenge Louis to pistols at dawn on the common. But it doesn't matter what I think, does it?" He gave a bleak laugh. "And there was me thinking I'd be top of Treville's list."

Porthos stared at him in confusion. "Why would he suspect you? You had no reason to bump Louis off."

"Let me tell you how this is going to go," Athos said tiredly. "Treville will interview everyone today, all very chatty and friendly, see what people say, what they let slip, who they point the finger at. Everyone will deny anything to do with the murder. Treville will go away, dig up all the dirt he can find on us all. Then he'll come back and interview everyone again, and this time it'll be a lot less friendly."

"You sound very sure," Porthos said uncomfortably. 

"It's what I'd do." Athos gave him a humourless smile. "And as soon as he turns up my war record, trust me, I'm going to be up there with flashing lights around my name."

"Did you - did you desert?" Porthos asked awkwardly. It had been something that passed through his mind once before when Athos had been so determinedly vague about the circumstances regarding his activities in the war, but one look at Athos' face now was enough to tell him that he was wrong - horribly so.

"What did you say?" Athos asked, barely audible as if all the breath had gone out of him.

"I just - you said all the others were killed," Porthos floundered, knowing he was making it worse but unable to shut up. "And that you felt guilty. I just thought - wondered - maybe the reason you survived - no, I'm wrong, I see that, Athos I'm sorry."

"You think I'm a coward?" Athos had been pale before, but now he looked like all the blood had drained out of him. "Is that what you think of me? That I ran _away_?"

"No - no," Porthos insisted, hating himself for having put such a look of wounded betrayal on Athos' face. "I mean, I wouldn't have cared. If you had. But okay, you didn't, it was just a stupid theory, I was wrong," Porthos added hastily. "You've just always been so vague about it all. I didn't know what to think."

Athos seriously looked as if he was about to pass out and Porthos wanted to go to him, but sensed it wouldn't be welcomed. 

"I was _good_ , at what I did," Athos breathed. "And the day it all went to hell I was right there with them. And I wished, for years, that I had died that day. My guilt was from surviving when they didn't. That was all." He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, started pacing the tiny room, not letting Porthos get any further apologies in.

"You want to know, what I did? Fine. I was part of a team they used to send in to remove - obstacles. We'd be inserted behind enemy lines, given a target. Sometimes that would mean something like blowing up a bridge. Sometimes it would mean taking out a person. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"You were assassins," Porthos said hollowly. 

Athos nodded. "Good a word as any. I have killed a lot of people, Porthos. And not honourably, in a uniform, with a rifle. But quietly, in the dark, and more often than not with my bare hands. And that, is why Treville is going to suspect me. Because the way Louis was killed? That wasn't a poisoning, or a gunshot. That took either red hot passionate anger, or cold blooded lack of remorse. Not everyone could have killed in that way, not and held it together afterwards. Treville will be looking for people that could have done it. And he's going to see in me someone who ticks all his boxes. Not to mention the fact I don't exactly have an alibi."

"But you were with me!" Porthos protested, shocked out of his contemplation of this part of Athos' past he'd known nothing about.

"Not the whole time," Athos reminded him wearily. 

"Then tell them you were," Porthos insisted. "Look, when you were tidying up, you were never gone more than five or ten minutes at a time, at most. After Aramis went up - he doesn't know you stayed downstairs, or went to look for Rochefort. Nobody does, apart from me. So don't tell them. Say we came up together, that we were drinking for hours. You'll be safe then."

Athos studied him, thrown. "I can't ask you to lie for me Porthos," he objected softly.

"You're not asking," Porthos said stubbornly. "Besides, it gives me an alibi too, right?"

Athos frowned. "Why would Treville suspect you?"

Porthos gave a mirthless laugh. "I'm black, of course he's going to suspect me." He looked uncomfortable. "Also - I don’t know if he'll find out, but - I've sort of possibly got a criminal record."

"You have?" Athos asked, surprised.

"Yeah." Porthos sighed. "It was a long time ago. I was just a child. Thirteen, I think. I was hungry - and penniless. I stole some food. I mean, it weren’t exactly a hamper of champagne and caviar - a loaf of bread and an apple, as I recall."

"You got caught?" 

"Yeah. Got sent to borstal for a year."

"I'm sorry."

Porthos shrugged. "Weren't so bad. At least they fed you regular." He gave Athos a sad smile. "And I know you're going to say I should have told you that and all. But I never thought it was important. And - well, I suppose I thought we'd have a lifetime to tell each other our secrets."

That stopped Athos in his tracks, and he stared at Porthos for so long that Porthos thought he'd majorly fucked up. Then Athos walked over to him looking stunned, and Porthos instinctively took him into his arms. Athos held him tightly, and Porthos, astonished and suddenly wildly hopeful that maybe he hadn't broken everything beyond repair after all, squeezed him fiercely back.

"I'm sorry," Porthos murmured. "I should have told you about Aramis. I should have trusted you."

"No." Athos pulled back, and Porthos looked at him in surprise. "No, you're right, and I'm wrong," Athos said. "Being in love - it doesn't automatically negate promises you've made to someone else. I'm sorry. I had no right to be angry."

Porthos shook his head. "That's okay. If - I mean - we're okay?"

Athos nodded, and they hugged each other again in relief, as the tension finally ebbed away from both of them.

"A lifetime together eh?" Athos whispered and Porthos nodded, his smile hovering between rueful and hopeful. Athos leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth. "I rather like the sound of that."

Reluctant to end this moment of peace and return downstairs, instead they sat side by side on Athos' bed, holding hands.

"Does it bother you?" Athos asked quietly. "The things I've done?"

Porthos shrugged. "We were at war. It was them or us. I never actually had to kill anyone, working in the transport corps, but I'm glad people were out there doing it on my behalf. I don't see how it would be any different if you'd been shooting people from the trenches. Why should I think one man a hero for it and not another?"

"Thank you." Athos leaned against his shoulder, relaxing a little. "And you're right, I should have told you before. I just wasn't sure how you'd take it."

Porthos kissed him firmly on the side of the head. "You're still you, Athos," he murmured. "And I love you." He sat back and sighed. "It's weird. Don't you think? Knowing that someone in this house is a murderer? I can't get me head round it."

"I doubt very much that you're in danger," Athos smiled. 

Porthos gave a quiet laugh. "Hope not. Don't have a whole lot in common with Louis." He frowned. "Who do you think did it? It has to be one of the guests, right? One of the men, I mean?"

"Why only the men?" Athos asked, and Porthos looked startled. 

"Well - surely you don't think a woman could have done it?"

Athos considered. "Physically it wouldn't have taken much. Sharp piece of wood, up through the throat like that - it's possible. And Louis might well have been more inclined to let a woman up close, not considering himself to be in any danger." 

Porthos was stunned. "But - to kill like that - surely a woman couldn't have done it?"

"I can think of at least one woman in the house who could," Athos said grimly.

"Milady?" Porthos guessed. "Was she - one of your lot?"

Athos gave a dry laugh. "She wasn't one of my team, but yes, I worked with her upon occasion. She's certainly got plenty of blood on her hands. Yes, she could have done it, and been cool enough afterwards. But I honestly don't see a motive there. It sounded like she needed Louis, wanted his factory facilities for whatever she had in mind. He's no use to her dead."

"Unless that was all a blind, and someone paid her to kill him," Porthos mused, the word _assassin_ still running round his head.

Athos looked surprised. "I honestly hadn't considered that. Yes, it's a possibility."

Porthos looked sideways at him. "You don’t suspect any of the other women then?" he smirked, but to his surprise Athos took the question seriously.

"I don't think it was Anne. Arguably she had the motive, and she discovered the body, but honestly, she's always been terribly pragmatic about her marriage. I don't think she hated him, and to do that she'd have needed to."

"Aramis told me that she was determined that no one should know he was the father," Porthos remembered. "She was going to pass it off as Louis'."

"Pity she felt the need to tell Aramis," Athos said. "She'd have been safer keeping quiet entirely. Now at least three people know besides her. And who knows who else Aramis has told."

"He did say he'd have told d'Artagnan if he'd been around," Porthos agreed, and Athos groaned.

"Never mind the baby, I should have fired him years ago."

Porthos laughed. "Who else then? Not Louis' sister, surely?"

"Having resisted the urge to throttle him in childhood, perhaps not." Athos looked thoughtful. "Her husband though - that's a possibility. If I had to take a guess, I'd say as things stand Louis' will probably divides things between Anne and his sister. But with a baby on the way - there's a good chance he'd be intending to update it."

"You think he told Savoy he was going to disinherit Christine?" Porthos asked in surprise. 

"Even if he didn't, it's an easy assumption to make. Ordinarily Savoy could hardly have expected to see the rewards, he's a lot older than Louis. But what if this business deal never came off last night? If Louis turned it down - what if with him dead the factories go to his sister? Leaving Savoy in possession?"

"That only works if Louis hasn't changed his will already," Porthos pointed out. "Wouldn't he have done it as soon as he knew?"

"Knowing Louis he was probably waiting to see if it was a boy first."

Porthos poked him in the side. "Always thinking the worst of people you are."

"Trouble is, I'm normally right." Athos gave him a smile and recaptured his hand, kissing him on the knuckles. "I'm sorry. All of this is pure speculation. I'd like to think it was Rochefort, but I freely admit that's because he's the one I'd most like to see hang."

"Athos!" 

"Sorry." Athos gave him a guilty smile. "Too awful?" He sighed. "Rochefort doesn't really have a motive either, I have to say. He seemed less than interested in the business talk."

"More interested in Lady Anne," Porthos said darkly. "He could have offed Louis in the hope she'd fall into his slimy arms."

Athos smirked. "You're getting as bad as me. Who else is there? Oh, the Richelieus. Neither of them seems likely at the moment, although either could have done it I suppose."

"Not Adele!"

"Why not? What do we know about her, really? Strapping girl, and clearly determined to get what she wants, or do you imagine she married Richelieu for his looks and conversation?"

Porthos sighed. "This is depressing." He glanced at Athos and squeezed his hand. "I assume you're discounting the staff?"

Athos nodded slowly. "I honestly can't see Fleur being capable. Constance perhaps, but she'd probably just have poisoned him." He smiled, as Porthos punched him lightly in the side. "No, okay, not Constance. D'Artagnan? Angry at Louis not letting them marry? Could have, again, but probably didn't. Aramis we've already discounted."

"You've not mentioned me," Porthos said mischievously. "I could have done it. Had the opportunity."

"So did I," Athos pointed out grimly, and Porthos stopped smiling. 

"Don't. It's not funny." He pulled Athos into a hug, and they held each other close for a moment. 

"We'd better go back down," Athos said reluctantly.

"Remember," Porthos told him. "You were with me, until late. Okay?"

Athos nodded. "Thank you," he whispered, and kissed Porthos lingeringly until the sound of a bell jangling in the corridor made them jump. Investigation revealed it to be originating from the Blue room, and Athos frowned. "That's where we put Rochefort."

"But he moved?"

"Exactly. Which means - Milady? What's she doing back in her bedroom?" 

"Guess we'd better find out."

Athos shook his head. "I'll go. You go back down, check Constance and Fleur are all right. Tell them I'll answer the bell."

They descended the first steps together, then Athos slipped out into the main house through the door on the first floor, and Porthos continued alone to the kitchen.

\--


	8. Chapter 8

When Athos reappeared in the kitchen some time later, Porthos followed him into the back room without waiting to be invited.

"What did she want?" he asked, burning with curiosity. Athos had been gone too long for it to be a simple request for tea.

Athos hesitated, then nodded to himself, seemingly making the decision to confide in him. "She wanted to make a deal," he said quietly, conscious of the others in the kitchen just beyond. 

"What kind of deal?"

"She offered not to let on to Treville that she knew me from a previous life, if I was willing to extend the same courtesy to her."

"You turned her down, obviously?" Porthos said, then frowned at Athos' expression. "You didn't?"

"No. I accepted her terms," Athos said carefully.

"Why! She's the one who changed her name, she obviously feels she's got a lot more to hide than you. She was one of the people you thought was most likely to have done it!"

"Keep your voice down," Athos murmured. "I didn't say likely, I said capable. I still don't see a motive, and even if you're right and she was paid to do it, well who has the kind of money and reason to hire her? Let's just see what comes out of Treville's first enquiries. Who knows, maybe whoever did it will crack under the pressure, and nobody needs to know anything more about her or me than they do already."

Porthos saw the sense in this, but he still didn't like the idea of Athos colluding with Milady. "Do you trust her then?"

"Not in the least," Athos smiled. 

Porthos snorted with laughter. "Well, that's something. Are you going to tell Treville your theories about everyone else?"

"No." Athos shook his head. "I feel he's the kind of man who wouldn't be too impressed with you trying to incriminate people without any proof. Let him do his job." 

\--

The day crawled past, everyone feeling trapped in a tense limbo. Treville availed himself of the house telephone a couple of times, and part-way through the afternoon a van arrived to take Louis' body away. Covered by a blanket he was carried out on a stretcher by two of the constables, with most of the household watching in grim fascination from various windows. Anne and Christine stood on the front steps as he was carried out, comforting each other.

Staring after the van as it disappeared down the drive, Porthos jumped when someone cleared their throat behind him and he turned to discover it was a policeman. 

"Mr du Vallon? Inspector Treville would like to see you next, please."

He followed Constable Andrews apprehensively to the library. As they arrived, Athos was just coming out, and he nodded to Porthos with a calm reserve. Porthos nodded back gratefully, his anxiety easing a little. If Athos had endured his interview without undue stress, then so could he.

"Mr du Vallon, please, come in." Inspector Treville shook his hand, and gestured for him to take a seat. Porthos felt rather awkward about sitting down in one of his Lordship's leather chairs, but did as he was told.

"Thank you for coming," said Treville briskly. "I only have a few questions at this stage. Firstly, and please understand I am asking everyone this, could you describe your movements last night, from when you last saw his lordship, to this morning?"

Porthos took a steadying breath and complied, explaining that he had been with Aramis and d’Artagnan, and then Athos until late into the night. Treville nodded, listening carefully, and Porthos was aware of the constable standing unobtrusively at the back of the room, taking notes.

"And it was Mr Herblay who first noticed something was amiss this morning, I understand?" Treville promoted.

"Yes sir. Aramis reported that Louis wasn't in his room when he took his breakfast up. That his bed hadn't been slept in."

"But nobody was overly concerned by this?" Treville asked. "I mean, a search wasn't made immediately?"

"Well, no," Porthos admitted. "To be honest we all assumed he'd passed out drunk somewhere. I think it was Athos who first suggested we should check on him when he didn't appear, but by then Lady Anne had already found him. With six houseguests we were all a bit preoccupied."

"You've worked here a while I assume, as footman?"

Porthos felt uncomfortable. "A few months. And - I'm actually the chauffeur. I mean, I have worked as a valet before. Athos asked me to pitch in just to help over the weekend."

"I see." Treville nodded again, and Porthos shifted nervously. 

"Look, um, there's something I should probably tell you," Porthos volunteered. "I mean, it's nothing to do with this, but you'll probably find out soon enough, so - yeah. See, I had a spot of bother the other day." Reluctantly he explained about his run in with the policeman in town after his dangerous driving, and how Louis had threatened to sack him afterwards.

"I know it's my word against his, and he can't exactly argue now," Porthos admitted. "But I suppose I just thought you should know." Thinking that he didn't know who else Louis might have told, and that he didn't want it to look like he'd tried to deliberately hide it.

"Well, that's very honest of you," said Treville, looking surprised and almost a little amused. "If only all my interviewees were as forthcoming."

"Nobody's confessed then?" Porthos asked before he could help himself.

"Sadly not." Treville steepled his fingers and looked at him. "No theories yourself you would like to advance? In the interests of transparency, I should perhaps mention that Count Rochefort was most insistent that you had had something to do with it." 

Porthos stared at him in shock. "Me! Why me?"

"I am sad to say, his reasoning had more to do with your race, than any particular motive," Treville murmured. "He also implicated Mr Herblay on the grounds of improper interests in Lady Anne, and Mr Athos for reasons he wasn't able to fully articulate but in which the word 'bastard' featured quite heavily."

Struck dumb, Porthos wondered why Treville was telling him all this. To get a reaction, he guessed, to watch his expression. What was it Athos had said? To see what people let slip, and who points the finger at whom. Well he was damn well prepared to do a bit of finger pointing himself.

"Has anyone told you what Rochefort did last night?" Porthos blurted. Treville shook his head, silently encouraging him to continue. With a vindictive satisfaction, Porthos described how Rochefort had switched rooms to be closer to Lady Anne, and how he'd frightened Fleur.

"Hmmn. Oddly, he failed to mention that when I spoke with him earlier," Treville murmured. "I've not yet spoken with Miss Baudin. Thank you for the information. It may not be relevant, but it helps to get a picture of what was going on here last night."

"Thing is," Porthos said, warming to his theme the more he thought about it. "What if Rochefort wasn't actually exposing himself on purpose because he's a sick creep? What if it hadn't occurred to him that one of the girls would answer the bell? What if the reason he'd taken his clothes off so quickly was because they were covered in blood?"

Treville merely raised an eyebrow and Porthos sat back, feeling rather silly. "Just an idea," he muttered. 

"And not a bad one, to be fair," Treville murmured. "One of my men is in fact going through the rooms as we speak, looking for evidence of bloodstained clothing, or anything else similarly incriminating."

His words left Porthos rather startled. The idea that his own room was to be searched - despite the fact that there was nothing there that shouldn't be, he felt unsettled and indignant. But he guessed too that Treville would be on the lookout for those who objected to this the most strongly, and so he let it go.

He could be of little more help, and after a few further questions Treville released him. Porthos hurried back to the kitchen, feeling relieved to have got off so lightly, although he hadn't forgotten Athos' warning that things would get tougher the second time round. 

For the first time he realised he had no idea what the future would bring. With Louis dead, would Lady Anne want to keep him on as chauffeur? Would she even stay in this house? What would happen to all of them if she didn't? He needed to find Athos and compare notes, Porthos decided, and felt a warm glow at the thought that regardless of the uncertainty they were currently facing, they at least had each other to turn to. 

\--

"How was it?" Constance asked anxiously as Porthos came into the kitchen. All the rest of the staff were gathered around the table with the exception of Aramis, whom Porthos had passed on his way down, headed for his own interview with Treville. They'd exchanged a brief grimace but said nothing.

"Not so bad," Porthos admitted. "He was very civil actually."

Athos gave him a pitying look. "Wait until he scents an arrest. He'll be like a terrier with a rat."

Constance flicked him with a dishcloth. "Don't wind me up. I'm nervous enough about talking to him as it is."

"Sorry." Athos gave her an apologetic smile. "I just don't think it's a good idea to be fooled by his bonhomie. Keep your wits about you."

"I don't have anything to hide!" Constance objected.

"Don't you?" Athos raised an eyebrow and Constance flushed. It was Porthos' turn to slap him on the arm, annoyed that Athos was implying he'd been naive.

"Don't embarrass her."

Athos groaned. "Sorry. Clearly I'm not good company right now. I'll take myself off, go and annoy the quality instead." He quickly left the room and Porthos winced. It hadn't been his intention to chase Athos away.

"You okay?" he asked Constance, who nodded, but glanced over at d'Artagnan before sinking into the seat next to Porthos. 

"I need your advice," she said in a low voice. "Do we tell the Inspector about my baby or not? And - the thing is, last night, d'Artagnan - well, he was with me for part of it," she admitted, going scarlet. "I wish we knew when Louis was killed," she sighed. "I don't know if it'll help us to tell the police that or just make us look bad."

Just then one of the constables knocked on the door and asked Fleur to come up to the library. She went with him looking pale and scared and Porthos gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. When they were gone, he turned back to Constance and d'Artagnan, who'd come over and was resting his hands on the back of Constance's chair.

Porthos wished he knew what to say. "You'd be better off asking Athos," he suggested. "My instinct is to tell the truth and trust the police to sort it all out. But I suspect Athos' advice would be to keep quiet about anything that's not relevant."

"Athos doesn't know everything," d'Artagnan objected hotly. "He just thinks he does."

"Say that to his face would you?" Porthos asked, and d’Artagnan flushed.

"I'm going to see to the horses. Not like they'll understand why they're being fed late."

"We were told to stay in the house!" Constance yelped, but he'd already slammed out through the back. 

She looked at Porthos anxiously and he patted her hand. "It'll be alright," he said. "We didn't kill the silly sod, so there's nothing to worry about, is there?"

"Wish I had your confidence," Constance grumbled, but she looked a little happier all the same.

\-- 

By the time Treville and the rest of the policemen left that night, everyone was fractious and on edge. Each person was left wondering what might have been said about them, and there was frosty suspicion growing as the gathering realised they were facing a night unprotected, with a murderer still in their midst.

Treville had informed them he would return in the morning and that they should be prepared for further questioning, making it clear that the interviews thus far had thrown up certain discrepancies as far as their stories went. They were instructed to remain within the grounds of the house, and told that any attempt to leave would be seen as an admission of guilt. 

D'Artagnan, coming in from the stables later that evening, reported that a dark motor van was parked in the trees outside the gate, and Athos declared that it was almost certainly the police. 

"Should we send some supper out to them?" Constance wondered, then bristled when they laughed at her. "Well, poor lads, whoever they are, not going to be a very comfortable night for them is it?"

"Probably be seen as attempted bribery," Porthos grinned, and Constance looked horrified until she realised he was joking. 

"Wish they'd cleaned up after themselves," Fleur grumbled. "The study's covered in that fingerprint powder now, and they won't let me go in there to clean it up."

"You should ask them to scrub off the bloodstain while you're at it," d'Artagnan suggested, then ducked as Constance threw a wooden spoon at him. He caught it and wielded it like a sword, until she snatched it back again. 

"You want to be careful talking about bloodstains," Aramis said gloomily. "You didn't actually see the body, did you? Treville'd be right on that."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "You said he'd been stabbed in the neck. It's not a huge leap of deductive reasoning to assume there was a shi- " he realised Athos was watching him and switched tack mid-sentence. " - a lot of blood."

"It's odd that nobody heard anything," Aramis mused. "He can't have put up much of a fight. You'd have thought if there was such a struggle that the ship got knocked over that there'd have been yelling and stuff."

"The study's quite a way from the nearest bedrooms," Porthos pointed out. 

"Also, there may not have been a struggle," Athos added. "They could easily have pushed the model off the table on purpose, then when Louis came over to shout at them, got him in the neck with the broken mast on the way up."

He mimed the action, and Fleur shuddered. "It's horrible to think. That someone came here, with the intent to murder him? He might have had his faults, but he didn't deserve that."

"Presumably they didn't actually come with that in mind though?" Porthos argued. "If you were going to kill someone, you'd bring a gun or something, wouldn't you? Surely the fact they used the model means it was in the heat of the moment, sort of thing?"

"Not premeditated?" Athos said. "It's an interesting theory. Adds weight to the idea it was one of the three people in the study with him last night."

"Do we know who was last to see him alive?" Constance asked. "Apart from the murderer, obviously."

Athos shook his head. "From what I'm hearing, they're all three claiming to have left together. If one of them went back afterwards, nobody's admitting to it. Although someone did, clearly, as they say they weren't playing cards at all, and yet there was a deck laid out."

"How do you know all this?" Porthos demanded.

"I have my sources," Athos muttered, and Porthos eyed him suspiciously. He guessed that meant Milady, and didn't like the idea they were apparently sharing information one bit.

Before the police left, they'd taken everyone's fingerprints in the hope of identifying who that last visitor had been. There'd been no prints recoverable from the murder weapon, but Treville had announced confidently that they had taken clear ones from the cards and the glasses set apart from those of the main group. It wouldn't be conclusive in and of itself, but as so far no one was admitting to being that person, it would be an interesting result.

Exhausted by the stressful day everyone went to bed early, and most locked their bedroom doors carefully behind them. 

Porthos was torn. He wanted nothing more than to spend the night lying in Athos' arms, but he was uneasy with the house under surveillance and also at odds with some of Athos' decisions. He was too tired to argue though, and also too tired to do anything else. They'd only managed a few hours sleep the night before, and although the memory of what they'd done still stirred a pleasant heat inside him, Porthos found he would willingly exchange the opportunity to do it again for a solid eight hours.

Still, when Athos knocked discreetly on his door a few minutes after he'd shut himself in, Porthos couldn't help the way his heart leapt in relief. They'd been prickly with each other all evening, and he'd harboured a rather sad prediction that Athos would simply go to bed without attempting to resolve things.

"I won't stay," Athos said in a low voice as he slipped inside and closed the door. "I don't think it would be wise, not tonight. I just - came to say goodnight, I suppose," he said, looking a little lost and surprisingly hesitant, as if unsure of his welcome.

In reply, Porthos simply wrapped his arms around him and after a second Athos gave a shuddering sigh and hugged him back tightly in relief. Hugs turned to kisses, and when Athos let himself out again a few minutes later, both of them were smiling.

\-- 

When Treville and his constables arrived the next morning, to everyone's surprise his first move was to ask everyone, Lady Anne, guests and staff alike to join him in the library.

"Not just Rochefort who's been reading too many novels," Milady murmured as she passed Athos to take a seat. He smiled, and Porthos glared at her. 

When everyone was settled, the staff standing quietly in a row at the back behind the seated gentry, Treville cleared his throat.

"I have called you all together because I believe it will be useful for everyone to hear this at the same time, and I also have a certain number of new facts at my disposal since yesterday, which again may save time by my imparting them to you all at once."

"Wants to see our reactions," Athos murmured in an undertone to Porthos. "Stir up trouble, see what shakes loose. He hasn't got a clue who did it. Watch him, he'll throw in a couple of bombshells."

"Shhh," Porthos hissed, seeing Treville's gaze swing their way and scared of having everyone's attention drawn to them.

"Firstly, I can tell you that we have had a positive finger print match from the playing cards and glasses that, as I think most of you are aware, we believe to have been used by the person - I am not, at this stage, saying the killer - who last saw Louis alive. There were two sets in fact, although one of those we have matched to Louis himself. The other - belongs to Count Rochefort."

Rochefort, who up until now had been trying to catch the eye of Lady Anne who was sitting across from him, looked up in surprise and jumped to his feet. "What! What are you accusing me of! I left with the others, you know that! You have two people who can testify to that! And - and I was in my room after that, as due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, most of the household can tell you."

"How convenient," Milady called, and Rochefort looked daggers at her. 

"Oh, so now I'm being accused of stabbing the man in the nude as well am I?"

She tilted her head consideringly. "It would be a safe way of not getting blood on your clothes."

"This gets more preposterous by the second!" Rochefort yelled. 

"Sit down, sir," Treville said, quiet but firm. "Nobody is accusing you of anything. Yet. Do you maintain that it was not you who went back to the study then? Can you account for your fingerprints on the cards?"

Rochefort looked panicky for a second, but then his face cleared. "Yes! I can. I was playing cards with Louis earlier that afternoon - in here, in fact. It must have been the same pack."

"Can anyone else confirm this?" Treville asked the group. To Porthos' surprise, Athos raised his hand.

"Yes sir. I was serving them in here that afternoon, and as I recall they were playing cards together."

"Thank you."

Porthos frowned at him. "What you want to say that for?" he muttered. "They had him!"

Athos shrugged. "It's the truth."

"All sounding very convenient for you, isn't it Rochefort?" Milady drawled. "Almost like it was planned that way. Odd that no other fingerprints were on the cards, if someone else was playing with Louis later."

"Maybe they wore gloves," said Richelieu, speaking for the first time and making several people jump. Everyone's gaze tracked to Milady, who was indeed currently wearing elbow length silk gloves. She merely raised her cigarette holder to her lips and shrugged.

"Or maybe Louis was playing patience and there was no second person," she said. "This could all be a massive waste of time and effort. Shouldn't we be looking for someone with an actual motive?"

"Indeed. And we shall come to that," Treville said pointedly. "Now, I understand that the purpose of this weekend was to celebrate the impending birth of your first child, Lady Anne, is that correct?"

Anne looked pale, but nodded. Next to her, Christine Savoy took her hand and she gripped it gratefully. Porthos glanced across at Aramis, who looked like he was only restraining himself from going to her with a great effort of will, and he hoped the man had the sense to stay quiet, whatever was said.

"But from what you have told me, the guests were selected by your husband, is that correct?"

"Yes," Anne confirmed, and despite her fragile appearance, her voice was steady.

"None of the guests were of your choosing?"

"No - but Christine and I have been friends for years, and she and her husband have often visited. As have Richelieu and Rochefort."

"But these are - forgive me pressing - your husband's friends and family, rather than yours? And you had in fact never met Miss de Winter nor Mrs Richelieu before this weekend?"

"That's correct. But perhaps less surprising than it may appear. Louis always took charge of guest lists for such events."

"That didn't vex you?"

Anne gave him a penetrating look. "Not enough to kill him, if that's what you are implying Inspector."

"Not at all. My apologies." Treville looked down at his notes. "My point, in fact, was that from what I have been told by various of you, Louis appears to have selected these guests on the basis of a new business proposal."

"I know nothing about that," Anne told him. "Louis kept all business matters to himself. I understand there was something being discussed that night, but I do not know the details." 

"Well, thanks to the combined testimony of the three people who met with him, I now do," Treville told her. "A new automated process I understand, proposed by Miss de Winter, and requiring the conversion of one of his lordship's factories. With additional investment sought from Savoy and Rochefort. And, initially, Richelieu."

This came as a surprise to many of those present, who all immediately stared at him. He gazed back, unruffled.

"I was invited to invest, yes. Once understanding the proposal on the table, I declined. I am very careful with my money, and there were certain of those involved I would not trust it with." He threw a pointed glance at Rochefort. 

"But is it not the case sir," Treville persisted, with another glance at his notes, "that you are in fact the owner of a factory running a similar process yourself? And that any venture launched by Louis and his colleagues in this field would have stood to become dangerous competition? At considerable risk to your profits."

There was a lot of murmuring in the library now, and from the startled and accusing expressions of Milady, Rochefort and Savoy, this was clearly new information.

For the first time, Richelieu's impassive facade cracked into anger. "Are you accusing me now?" he demanded. "You think I'd have been worried by the petty meddling of fools in a field about which they know nothing? You think I killed Louis - one of my dearest friends - to protect my own interests? You're mad." He gathered himself under an icy control. 

"Much as I find it distasteful to find myself in agreement with Count Rochefort on any subject," Richelieu continued, "I have to concur that you are mistaken to be looking for the killer amongst Louis' friends and relations. Far more likely to be one of the _lower_ orders."

"And do you have any particular reason for suspecting any of them sir?" Treville prompted wearily.

"As a matter of fact, I do," said Richelieu with the beginnings of a sly smile that Porthos didn't like the look of one bit. "I think you'll find that certain members of staff are engaged in repulsive and unnatural practices that, had Louis become aware of, would certainly have resulted in their dismissal, if not their arrest. A fine motive there, I would have thought. If I observed such behaviour occurring openly that night, it's equally possible Louis did. Perhaps he even called one or both of them to his study, for the purposes of firing them," he finished with an air of revelation, as if he'd only just thought of such a possibility. 

Porthos felt nauseous. Richelieu could only be referring to him and Athos, but he had no idea how he could have discovered what they were doing - until he remembered that one ill advised kiss in a doorway after taking the supper tray up to the study. If Richelieu had seen that, they were sunk.

Treville was looking exasperated. "Are we to have the names of these people you are accusing?" he demanded. "And what, incidentally, are you accusing them of exactly?"

"Certainly." Richelieu wetted his lips with a malicious smile. "Athos and - Porthos, is it, over there? I regret very much to say I observed them both that night - my apologies, ladies - _kissing_ each other in such a revolting manner as hardly befits two men, and in an open hallway of all places."

The buzz of conversation rose sharply, and Porthos thought he was going to pass out - but it was Athos who stepped forward.

"I will be interested to see you prove such an allegation sir, as will my solicitor," Athos said sharply, sounding outraged. "I presume you can back up such a scurrilous accusation? Or are we to take this as a round-about way of confessing you yourself were skulking about the hallways alone that night?"

Richelieu fell silent, clearly startled at facing an unexpected counter attack. Treville glared at both of them.

"Do I understand you refute the charge?" he asked Athos.

"Absolutely! I've never heard anything so absurd in my life!"

All eyes turned to Richelieu, who looked sick. "Regrettably, I cannot prove what I saw," he conceded through gritted teeth. "I therefore withdraw the allegation."

It was a minute or so before Treville could convince the room to fall quiet again. Porthos leaned weakly against the bookshelves behind him, glad everyone was facing away. He felt lightheaded, hardly sure if they had escaped the accusation. It would surely come back to bite them later; proven or not, the damage had been done.

Head buzzing, he hardly took in what Treville was saying next - something about the fact that Louis had apparently finally declined to take up the offer regarding the factory, and some speculation about the contents of his will which set the room in uproar again. He guessed Athos had been right about that particular line of enquiry, and longed to look over at him, but right now didn't dare make eye contact.

Having successfully thrown everyone into confusion and mutual suspicion, Treville announced that he would be re-interviewing everyone starting with Rochefort, and lead him sternly out of the room.

Everyone else dispersed at speed, as if remaining in the room might be taken as a sign of guilt. Several threw curious glances towards Athos and Porthos, and Porthos squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He was desperate for a quiet word with Athos, but to his annoyance Milady lingered as well, until it was just the three of them left.

"Is it true?" Milady studied Athos' face then stared beyond him at Porthos, and gave a startled laugh. "My God. It is."

"I have admitted nothing," Athos sighed.

"You don't have to. It's written all over your face. Well, no, it's written all over his face," Milady amended, pointing an accusatory finger at Porthos. "You should probably teach him poker. Or is that an unfortunate turn of phrase?" She turned to go, then glanced back. "Don't worry, I'll keep your sordid little secret. It's rather a relief actually."

"A relief?" Athos echoed, looking confused.

Milady smirked. "Well, yes. For a minute there I thought I must have been losing my touch."

\--


	9. Chapter 9

As the sound of Milady's high heels clicked away down the passage, Porthos heaved a sigh of relief.

"I thought we'd had it. You were amazing," he murmured to Athos. "I could kiss you."

Athos hid a smile. "Possibly unwise, given the circumstances. We'd better go. I don't think we should be seen alone together for a while."

"But what do we do?" Porthos asked urgently.

Athos shook his head. "Richelieu can't prove anything, or he would have." He laid a reassuring hand on Porthos' arm for a moment. "Keep calm. Deny everything. To everyone. We'll get through this."

Calm was the last thing Porthos felt like being, and he envied Athos' unflappable nature. When Constable Andrews arrived back in the library a moment later to say that Treville wanted to see him next he felt more nervous than ever, and as he followed Andrews his heart was beating like a drum.

Today Treville had commandeered the dining room for his interviews, and Porthos had to wait outside for five minutes until the door opened and Rochefort stalked out. It was a measure of Rochefort's disquiet that he could only summon the most perfunctory sneer for Porthos, before marching away at considerable speed.

Porthos walked in, trying to hide his anxiety. That Richelieu had not only accused him of open perversity with Athos, but also held that up as a motive for murder meant that he'd barely sat down in the chair before blurting out "I didn't kill him!"

Treville just looked at him.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," he said dryly.

Porthos cleared his throat, a little embarrassed but also defiant. "And neither did Athos," he added. "He couldn't have, he was with me all night, I told you."

" _All_ night?" Treville echoed, and Porthos froze. 

Treville studied his horrified and conflicted expression for a moment, then sighed. "Andrews, would you go and fetch Mr Athos please, I would like to see him next? Thank you."

As soon as the constable had gone and they were alone, Treville clasped his hands together and gave Porthos a serious look. "I'll be blunt with you, Mr du Vallon, if I may. I have a murderer to catch. I am not interested in wasting my time prosecuting whatever filthy acts two grown men choose to get up to behind closed doors. I am only interested in whether their alibis stack up. You were rather vague about timings yesterday, both of you, and now you seem to be changing your story. Which is it to be?"

Porthos stared at him, weighing up the risks. Athos had told him to keep denying it and been wary of what sharper motives lay behind Treville's relatively pleasant approach - but Porthos couldn’t help it, he was inclined to trust him. He nodded, reluctantly.

"All night," he confirmed. "Athos spent the night in my room." 

Treville's expression tightened a little with obvious distaste, but he merely nodded. "And before that?" 

"We were together all evening," Porthos nodded, the lie coming easily now, on the tails of the far greater fear of being arrested for what he'd just admitted to. There was still the risk that Treville would think they might have done it together, but thankfully he seemed to have dismissed Richelieu's theory as implausible.

"I see. Thank you, I think that will be all for now then, unless there is anything else you wish to share with me? It certainly explains the small discrepancies between your stories, I had felt there was something neither of you were telling me, although I must confess I hadn't imagined it would be this." Treville gave him a cold look. "I would advise considerable discretion from now on, if I were you. If Richelieu had had another witness..." he let the thought trail off, and Porthos shuddered.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir." He got to his feet and hurried out, finding Athos just arriving with Andrews. Porthos tried to convey what he'd just been through with a meaningful glance, but Athos was careful to avoid his eyes as he walked in.

Somewhat dismally Porthos made his way down to the kitchen. He wasn't looking forward to facing the others, but to his relief the only person in residence was Aramis.

"Porthos." Aramis gave him an awkward smile.

"Aramis." He sat down opposite him and there was an uncomfortable silence.

Finally Aramis cleared his throat. "Richelieu - "

"Is a mad old man, desperate to deflect attention from himself," Porthos retorted quickly. Aramis looked relieved.

"So, there's no truth in - er."

"None," said Porthos, stonily.

"Right. Good. Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything," Aramis said hastily. 

Porthos sighed. "That's alright. Presumably the whole house thinks we're at it after that."

"Well, yes, possibly," Aramis admitted with a slight smile. He eyed Porthos speculatively, thinking back over all the evenings Porthos and Athos had spent in each other's company, but said nothing. 

After a while Athos joined them, and Porthos took advantage of Aramis going to refill the heavy tea kettle to slide over to him. "Did Treville - ?"

"Yes." Athos looked carefully to make sure Aramis was still in the scullery. "He explained he was going to tell me what he'd just told you, and that it was up to me to decide. So - yes. I admitted to spending the night with you."

Porthos felt a wave of relief, both that as far as Athos was concerned he'd made the right choice, and that their stories still matched. If they went down for it, at least they'd go down together. He reached for Athos' hand across the table, but Athos moved out of range. 

"I saw Milady on the way back," Athos murmured. "She told me they're searching the bedrooms again."

"Again?" Porthos was startled.

Athos nodded. "Last time they were mostly looking for blood-stained clothing I think. This time it'll be more of a fingertip search, see if they can turn up anything that might hint at a motive."

Aramis rejoined them then and hung the kettle over the hearth, nodding to Athos. Fleur and Constance came in a few minutes later from setting up for lunch, having had to lay out places in the breakfast room, due to Treville being ensconced in the dining room.

"I'll be glad when this is all over and they've gone," Constance declared. "Get back to normal."

"Normal?" Aramis gave a rather bitter laugh. "I think normal might be a stretch, after this."

"What's wrong?" Porthos asked. He'd thought Aramis seemed more preoccupied than usual, but had put it down to the pressure they were all under.

Aramis gave him a bleak look. "Rochefort has asked Anne to marry him," he said. 

"What?" Porthos stared at him in shock, as did everyone else.

"Louis' not been dead two days, that's hardly appropriate," Constance said distastefully.

"He says she needs support and protection, and he is willing to provide it," Aramis sighed. "Not to mention a fortune almost as large as Louis'."

"Surely she won't accept?" asked Athos, looking surprised. Everyone briefly contemplated a future with Rochefort as their employer, and shuddered.

"She has asked for time to consider," Aramis sighed.

"How do you know what he's said to her?" Constance asked curiously. 

"She told me," Aramis said without thinking. Before anyone could comment on this, Constable Andrews appeared in the doorway.

"Mr Herblay, would you come with me please," he asked stiffly. Aramis got to his feet looking resigned. 

"Wish me luck," he muttered, before following the policeman out of the room.

"Andrews sounded a bit terse there," Porthos observed, frowning. The young man had been perfectly pleasant to him, and to everyone else that he'd heard him interact with, and he hoped it didn't bode ill for Aramis.

He found out twenty minutes later, when Aramis returned to the kitchen pale-faced and shaken. Aramis told Fleur that she was wanted next, and sank down into his chair as she left the room.

"Aramis? What is it?" Athos asked sharply. 

Aramis looked up at him, and it was a moment before he could find his voice. "They know," he said bleakly. "They know I'm the father."

Constance looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Anne's baby," Aramis sighed, looking up at her with a certain amount of guilty pride. "It's mine."

There was a silence while Constance digested this, and they all waited for her reaction.

"Bloody hell."

The three men all snorted with surprised laughter, and the tension eased a little. 

"I promise I never told anyone," Porthos said quickly, then realised that wasn't quite true. "At least - only Athos." He winced as soon as the words were out, firstly because he'd just been trying to convince Aramis he and Athos were not on intimate terms - and also because it sounded like he was trying to drop Athos in it.

To his relief Athos wasn't angry, just shook his head. "They did not hear it from me either, you have my word."

Aramis sighed. "It's alright. I know who did tell them."

Everyone stared at him in surprise. 

"Surely Anne didn't volunteer the information?" Athos asked.

"No. It was her sister in law."

"Lady Savoy?" Porthos was shocked. 

Aramis nodded. "Since Rochefort caught us together, I have tried to keep my distance," he admitted. "Anne must have needed someone to confide in. Who better than a trusted friend of long standing?"

"Why would Christine betray her like that?" Constance wondered, sounding hurt.

"Other than anger on behalf of her brother? At a guess, because of what Treville was saying this morning," Aramis told her. "Casting suspicion on Savoy, with his wife standing to be disinherited. She must have wanted to deflect attention. Well she's certainly done that. Treville called me in straight after seeing her, and confronted me with it."

"You surely didn't admit it?" Athos said.

"Yes, of course I did," Aramis declared with dignity, then looked helpless. "What do I do, Athos?"

Athos shook his head exasperatedly. "Bit late to ask now. Honestly, the best thing you could do if you want to protect her reputation is to say you forced her."

There was a shocked silence and Porthos glowered at him.

"You can be a cold bastard at times, you know that?"

Athos held his hands up in surrender. "This is why I never give advice," he sighed. "Nobody ever intends following it."

"You'd see me go to prison for a rape I didn't commit?" Aramis asked bleakly.

"Better than seeing you at the end of a hangman's noose for a murder you didn't commit," Athos pointed out. "Right now you must be Treville's prime suspect. If he believes the two of you are in love - it's the strongest motive he's got."

Aramis accepted this with a sigh, but was resolute. "I won't deny what I feel for her," he said stubbornly. "Not any longer. I just can't. Have you ever even been in love Athos? You don't know what it's like. It's not the kind of feeling you can hide."

"Not even to protect the one you claim to love?" Athos asked, raising an eyebrow. "I think you'll find it is possible, you know. All you need is practice."

They all looked at him, Porthos with a certain amount of heartache, and Aramis and Constance suddenly wondering uncomfortably if he was speaking from experience after all.

"Athos, are you and - " Constance started, but to his relief she was interrupted by Fleur coming back into the room, in floods of tears.

"Fleur, what is it!" Constance cried.

"I've done something awful," Fleur sobbed. "He just wouldn't stop asking, and I just wanted to make him stop. And now you're all going to hate me."

"Of course we won't hate you," Porthos said sympathetically. He went to give her a hug, but she gave him a startled look and moved away, leaving him feeling unexpectedly bruised. Of all people, he hadn't thought Fleur would be the one to judge him most harshly after the morning's accusation.

"Fleur. Calm down," Athos said softly, taking her hands. "Tell us what's happened. I promise no one will be angry, whatever you've said. But we need to know."

Her breathing eased a little, and she stared at him with wide eyes. "I told him about the baby," she whispered. 

Athos hesitated, briefly confused. "Hang on, which baby are we talking about now?"

Fleur looked over at Constance, and started crying again. "Yours," she confessed. "The Inspector kept saying as how he knew everybody had secrets, and that it was for the best for everything to be out in the open, and that I could go to prison for hiding things. So I told him about you and d'Artagnan, and how Louis wouldn't let you get married. All I meant was for him to understand the kind of person Louis was, and why he might have enemies, but then he got really interested and kept asking me how you both felt about it all. I'm so sorry."

She burst into fresh floods of tears and Constance hugged her with a sigh. 

Everyone jumped as the door from the scullery suddenly swung open, but it was only d'Artagnan, who looked taken aback to find everyone staring at him and Fleur in tears.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I've been revealed to the authorities as a fallen woman," Constance declared, trying to make light of it but only succeeding in making Fleur cry harder.

D'Artagnan put his arm around Constance's waist. "Don't worry. With Louis dead I'm sure Lady Anne won't object to us getting married now." The room went quiet and he frowned. "What? What did I say?"

Porthos patted Aramis on the shoulder. "Congratulations mate. You may have just been demoted to second most likely suspect."

After all this Athos retreated to the butler's pantry as soon as he could for a bit of peace and quiet, but it wasn't long before there was a discreet knock on the door and Porthos came in.

"Porthos! What did I tell you, you can't be in here!" Athos hissed urgently, as Porthos shut the door behind him. "People will talk."

Porthos sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I just needed to see you." He looked miserable, and Athos took pity on him.

"Is everything alright?" he asked more gently. 

"Hardly," Porthos said, but he managed a smile. "It just feels like everyone's looking sideways at me," he admitted. 

"It could be worse," Athos pointed out. "They could all be shunning the pair of us, proven guilty or not."

"I suppose," Porthos conceded. "It kind've hurts that Fleur hates me though."

"She doesn't hate you," Athos chided. "She's probably just embarrassed."

"Why would she be embarrassed?" Porthos asked, surprised.

"Because she liked you, and now she's realising that she never had a chance. She's probably afraid you were laughing at her."

"I never did!" Porthos protested.

"I know that." Athos half reached out to him, then let his hand drop again with a sigh. 

"She doesn't seem to mind you," Porthos grumbled.

"I imagine she never thought of me in that way to begin with," Athos said. "So nothing has changed with regards how she thinks about me. You should be flattered, not hurt."

Porthos snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Look, we really shouldn't be alone like this right now, we're pushing our luck," Athos reminded him. 

His words were immediately followed by a knock on the door that made them both jump. Athos opened it, and found Aramis looking speculatively in at them both.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Aramis began with a slight smirk.

Athos rolled his eyes. "Don't. Start."

Aramis' smile widened, but behind it he still looked tense and worried. "Treville wants to see everybody, upstairs. I think they've found something."

\--

As they all filed in to the library, Porthos noted that Treville looked grimly satisfied and wondered what he'd found. Short of a signed confession he couldn't imagine what could be that incriminating. Bloodstained clothing perhaps? 

He soon found out. There was something lying on the table draped in a napkin and once everyone was assembled and quiet, Treville addressed them gruffly.

"This morning I instructed my men to undertake a second search of the house. What they have brought to my attention was found in the false bottom of a suitcase belonging to you, Count Rochefort." He lifted the napkin off with the air of a man performing a magic trick, and several people gasped obligingly. 

Underneath was a gun, its dull, dark metal giving it a look of deadly practicality.

Porthos looked over at Rochefort, who seemed horrified and angry, but not, he thought, particularly guilty.

"Is this yours, sir?" Treville asked.

Rochefort spluttered for a bit, then glared at him defensively. "Yes. Yes it is. What of it? Unless I've been gravely misinformed, Louis wasn't shot, was he?"

Athos peered over the shoulders of the people seated in front of him and inspected the weapon more closely. "It's a luger," he pointed out. "Why do you own a German pistol?"

Rochefort turned his glare on Athos. "It was a souvenir," he said acidly. "Brought it back with me. And I don't like your tone."

Milady gave a derisive laugh. "You mean you actually fought, Rochefort? I am impressed."

"Technically he didn't," Richelieu corrected with a nasty smile. "He was captured his first week out there, spent three years as a prisoner of war."

"Through no fault of my own!" Rochefort snapped at him. "And I escaped! Can you say that? Did you risk your life out there, or did you spend the war making nice safe financial deals from the safety of home? Yes, I was captured, and I spent three years in hell." He turned sharply to Lady Anne, who looked startled.

"Do you know what kept me going?" he pleaded. "It was you. The thought of you. Knowing you were out there, knowing I had to be strong, to come back to you." His face clouded for a moment. "And when I did, it was to find out you'd married that fool Louis," Rochefort said bitterly. "But he's gone now. We can finally be together!"

Anne rose to her feet, looking shocked. She gave a bewildered shake of the head, resting her hand on her stomach, as if to remind him of her condition. It seemed Rochefort was already aware of the circumstances surrounding the pregnancy, but his next words surprised Porthos.

Rochefort waved his hand dismissively. "Oh I don't care whose child it is. I will raise it as mine, if only you will allow me. My sweet Anne, I love you. Please, say you will marry me?"

Beside him Porthos felt Aramis lunge forward, only to check himself abruptly a moment later. He realised Athos had grabbed Aramis' arm, and was holding him back.

Anne had been looking increasingly horrified as Rochefort's speech went on, and now that every eye in the room was upon her went paler than ever.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I have never loved you, Rochefort. I cannot marry you."

For several long seconds Rochefort just stared at her, breathing hard, then he gave a strangled howl.

"Then damn you! Damn you to hell! Damn all of you!" He turned and pushed his way angrily out of the room. 

Treville nodded to Constable Jones who followed him out and made sure Rochefort wasn't attempting to leave the house. He came back in and nodded. "Gone upstairs sir."

"Alright Jones, thank you. Stick around by the front door would you, just in case he decides to leave us." 

Athos cleared his throat. "I don't want to tell you your job sir, but shouldn't you be arresting him? He as good as just admitted his guilt."

Treville frowned. "I hate to say it, but it's all still circumstantial. He's right, the gun had nothing to do with Louis' murder, although the fact he brought it at all is suggestive. Then again, the fact he freely admitted it was his possibly counts in his favour, as does the fact he clearly hadn't attempted to dispose of it. Does anyone here know if he was indeed in the habit of carrying it with him?"

There were a lot of blank looks, but it was Savoy who spoke up.

"I can't attest to the gun, but I know he came back from the war a changed man. Very paranoid. Insisted people were trying to kill him. We never took much notice to be honest, thought the poor fool was just shellshocked. But yes, it's possible he was carrying it for his own protection, even if only from entirely imagined threats."

Treville nodded, looking gloomy. "Much as I would like to charge him, I suspect a sympathetic jury might yet find in his favour."

"This is all too much," Anne protested weakly. "I need to rest." She made her way out of the room, and again Athos held Aramis back from following her.

"Don't," he muttered, only loud enough for Aramis and Porthos to hear him. "You'll make it worse for her. It's her behaviour in all of this that a jury will in all likelihood be most unsympathetic to, and you have just as strong a motive as Rochefort. Best not remind people of that."

"She is blameless!" Aramis hissed angrily, but Athos met his gaze, unmoved.

"She has committed adultery and was pregnant with another man's child when her husband was killed. Take my advice Aramis, for her own safety and yours, stay away from her until this is all sorted. Rochefort's clearly unhinged, give him enough rope and he'll surely hang himself with his own words." 

As the group broke up Athos walked out with Constance and Fleur, but Porthos hung back and patted Aramis consolingly on the arm.

"He means to be kind," Porthos murmured. "He's just trying to save you from yourself."

"I know," Aramis said gloomily. "He just doesn't understand how I feel. She needs me, Porthos. Now more than ever." He sighed, and followed the others out of the room.

\--

As the others returned below-stairs, Porthos lingered on the ground floor. With Louis dead and everyone confined to the house there was hardly call for a chauffeur, so he'd carried on acting as a spare footman, hating the feeling of being at a loose end. 

Richelieu and Savoy had settled in the drawing room, where they were conversing in hushed tones that were nevertheless increasingly irate. Porthos got the impression they were not arguing with each other but instead united in their distaste for being stuck here with no immediate signs of release.

Christine Savoy, perhaps feeling the atmosphere awkward after telling Treville the truth about Anne's baby had taken herself off entirely, declaring she was going out to the stables in search of some sensible company. Porthos assumed she meant the horses rather than d'Artagnan, but one could never tell.

Milady, to his surprise, had taken over the orangery with Adele of all people. As soon as he showed his face at the door she demanded he fetch them a bottle of champagne and a selection of canapés, and Porthos did as he was asked, making no comment. The fact the house was officially in mourning and it wasn't yet lunchtime was none of his business. 

"We've decided to make the best of it," Adele told him when he returned, looking a little defiant. "It was supposed to be a party, after all." 

Milady didn't look like she cared what he thought, and returned his disapproving glower with a wide yawn.

The policemen were coming and going from the library as the search of the house apparently continued. Treville came out to make several calls from the telephone room, and Constable Jones was still posted by the front door, looking increasingly bored. 

Porthos wondered whether to point out that if Rochefort wanted to do a bunk he could slip down the back stairs and out through the scullery, but decided Treville had probably figured that out for himself. Porthos suspected there was still surveillance on the main gate, and Rochefort didn't strike him as the kind of man to try and escape across the muddy fields. 

Passing the drawing room a while later, having just delivered a second bottle of champagne and a plate of sandwiches to the orangery, Porthos was hailed by Richelieu and looked in the door.

"Are you ready for lunch sir?" he asked politely, but Richelieu looked at him as if he'd suggested something repulsive.

"How can you think of eating at a time like this?" Richelieu demanded. Porthos, who could generally think of eating regardless of the circumstances, wisely kept silent. Savoy looked like he might have liked to argue, but for the moment it seemed he was in accord with Richelieu.

"It is ridiculous," Richelieu continued, "that we are kept here because of the mad foaming schemes of a man who is apparently quite unhinged. I need to return home, I have business matters to attend to, as does Savoy. Rochefort must be made to confess."

Porthos frowned, but they could hardly mean to beat a confession out of him with four police officers in the vicinity. "What do you wish me to do sir?"

"Fetch him down, man!" Richelieu declared as if it was obvious. "Let's have it out with him. He needs to face up to what he's done."

"And if he won't come?"

Richelieu looked him up and down. "Oh, I'm sure a big lad like you could persuade him," he said archly. "I don't really care if you have to throw him over your shoulder, just get him down here. Don't take no for an answer," he ordered.

Porthos duly made his way upstairs, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. He had no intention of using force on Rochefort, but neither did he want to go back down and tell them he'd failed. He wished Athos hadn't made himself scarce, he'd have been a lot more at ease dealing with their demands - or dealing with Rochefort, for that matter.

He rounded the top of the stairs and was turning into the hallway when he suddenly sensed he wasn't alone. Footsteps were muffled on the thick carpet, but a movement ahead made him look up just in time to see someone disappear through a door further up the passage.

He'd only got a glimpse of a dark trousered leg and a black polished shoe, but further investigation revealed the door to be the one to Anne's bedroom and he frowned, wishing people would leave the poor woman alone. 

There was a good chance it had been Rochefort, gone in to badger her further about marriage and Porthos hesitated outside the door, wondering if she might need assistance. 

A breeze was blowing from somewhere and behind him another door banged. Going to investigate, Porthos discovered the door to the servant's stair was unlatched and swinging freely against the frame. He closed it firmly, scowling as he grasped the fact this almost certainly meant it was Aramis who'd gone into Anne's room.

"Bloody idiot," Porthos muttered under his breath, looking guiltily over his shoulder in case Athos might somehow have been magically summoned up by the very act of swearing. He retraced his steps and was about to knock on Rochefort's door when a commotion broke out in the entrance hall below.

Going to lean over the banisters, Porthos realised most of the shouting was being done by Treville, but in the confusion it was a few seconds before he could pick out the reason. It appeared that somehow between the comings and goings in the library that morning, the gun had disappeared from police custody.

Startled, Porthos drew back from the landing. It was extraordinary to think that anyone could have just walked in and taken it, but on the other hand he'd noticed himself the way there'd been a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, and it wasn't unfeasible to think the room had been left unattended for a minute.

Porthos had barely time to wonder who on earth might have taken it, when the hallways echoed to the sound of a shot.

He froze. The noise, unmistakeably, had come from Rochefort's room, right in front of him. Automatically he reached out and tried the door handle, but it was locked and refused to give under his hand. Porthos' first instinct was to break it open, but a warning voice in the back of his head that sounded remarkably like Athos said that if someone had just been shot in there, he really didn't want to be discovered standing over the body. 

Footsteps were pounding up the stairs, and a whole host of people arrived together, lead by Treville.

"It came from in there," Porthos said quickly, indicating Rochefort's room and rattling the handle. "It's locked."

"Well break it open man!" Treville instructed, and Porthos did as he was told, charging it with his shoulder.

The door burst open easily and he almost fell inside, catching himself just in time. Beyond lay a sight that made him catch his breath in horror. Rochefort lay sprawled across the floor, the missing luger by his outstretched hand - and half his head blown away.

"Dear God." Treville stared grimly down at the body, before realising how many people were trying to crowd into the room and urging them back.

A quick glance revealed that apart from Rochefort the locked room was empty. 

"The window's open," Porthos noted. He'd mostly just been thinking out loud, connecting it with the banging door to the back stairs, but Treville walked over and looked out and down.

"No one could have got in or out that way," he confirmed. "It's a sheer drop."

"What about down from the roof?" someone asked, and Porthos turned with a sense of relief to find Athos had appeared at his side.

Treville looked upwards and squinted into the sunlight. "No. Not unless they had ropes, and no one could have got back up there that quickly. It was only seconds before we came in." He turned back to the body on the floor and sighed. "No, I'm afraid he did this to himself."

"Preferred it to the noose I suppose," said Athos sombrely. "He may not have been wrong."

Averting his eyes from the ruined remains of Rochefort's skull, Porthos stared out of the window instead. In the distance he could see d'Artagnan and Christine riding together along the curve of the outer wall. Blissfully oblivious, he thought with more than a little envy. In the hallway outside, Anne was being openly comforted by Aramis, and he sighed. Maybe it didn't matter now. Rochefort's suicide had been as clear an admission of guilt as you could ask for.

"Did he leave a note?" Athos asked, seemingly reading his mind. 

A brief search by Treville revealed this did not appear to be the case, but he was sanguine about it.

"Probably realised he didn't have much time. He'd have known we'd have discovered the missing gun fairly quickly. He must have slipped back downstairs and waited for his chance to sneak in."

"He didn't come down past me," Constable Jones objected, a little indignantly. He'd been posted on the front door, and would have had a clear view of the main staircase.

"Could have gone down the servant's stairs," Porthos pointed out. 

Treville frowned. "Show me." 

Porthos lead the way to the door and explained the stairs came out in the passage outside the kitchen.

"And he could have got to the library and back without crossing the entrance hall?"

"Yes," Athos confirmed. "And he's been here several times over the years, he'd have had a fairly good idea of the layout of the house."

Treville nodded. "Then, considering his words earlier, I suspect we have found our murderer." He sighed. "I wish I had arrested him now, he'd still be alive. I fear you were right after all," he said to Athos. 

Athos shook his head. "You couldn't have known what he'd do. None of us could. Nobody realised he was quite so desperate."

There was a respectful silence, broken by the exasperated drawl of Richelieu. 

"So does this mean we can all leave now? With all due respect to Lady Anne, I for one can't wait to see the back of the place."

\--

There were certain formalities to go through, not least matching Rochefort's fingerprints to those on the gun, but by the end of the day Treville had officially agreed that the guests could go home. Porthos found himself back behind the wheel, driving the Savoys to the station to catch the last train south. 

Returning to the manor he found Athos helping Aramis strap Milady's case to the back of her car. She climbed behind the wheel and smiled up at them.

"See? I had nothing to with it after all," she called.

"This time," Athos retorted, and she blew him an amused kiss before accelerating away so fast Porthos had to leap sideways.

Grumbling, Athos went back inside. Aramis waited for Porthos to catch up, and smiled at him.

"You look happy," Porthos observed.

"I am. Anne's agreed to marry me," Aramis told him, and then laughed at Porthos' expression. "You think I should have waited?"

"I think you came within an inch of getting your neck stretched," Porthos snorted. "Did she agree before or after Rochefort did us all a favour and topped himself?"

"Well, afterwards, obviously," Aramis said, looking a little offended. "Just now in fact. I hardly had a chance to ask her before, did I?"

"No? What about when you were bothering her earlier?" Porthos muttered. 

Aramis looked blank. "When? What are you talking about?"

"You went in to see her," Porthos said impatiently. "I saw you. Right before Rochefort decided he'd look better with less of a head."

Aramis looked more confused than ever. "No I didn't. I didn't go anywhere near her. I decided that Athos was right, however much it pains me to say it. I was in the kitchen with Constance and Fleur all afternoon, you can ask them if you don't believe me? We came up when we heard the shot."

Porthos shook his head slowly. "No. No, sorry, it's fine. I must have been mistaken then. Sorry." 

Aramis gave him a funny look, but then shrugged and patted him on the shoulder. "It's been a tough few days," he said sympathetically. "But things are looking up now, right?"

"Yeah. Right." Porthos gave him a weak smile, and followed him slowly inside. There'd been something niggling at him all afternoon, and he hadn't been able to pin down what it was. Now though, it came to him in a sudden flash. Anne. When the shot had sounded, she'd come up with everyone else, from downstairs. 

So if she hadn't been in her room after all - and it hadn't been Aramis he saw going in there - who had it been? And why? The more Porthos thought about it, the less he liked the answers he was coming up with. D'Artagnan had been outside. Richelieu and Savoy had been downstairs, as had the police. Rochefort had been in his own room, as they'd discovered. Which left only one other possibility. 

Athos.

\--


	10. Chapter 10

When Athos walked into his room that night, he was brought up short by the sight of Porthos sitting quietly on his bed, apparently waiting for him.

"Hello," he said in surprise, beginnings of a smile playing around his lips as he closed the door behind him. "You're getting as reckless as Aramis," he added teasingly, but his smile faltered as he took in Porthos' serious expression. "Is everything all right?"

"I don't know," Porthos sighed. "I hope so. I just - there's something going round and round in my head, and it doesn't make sense, and I need to ask you something."

"Okay," said Athos, leaning back against the chest of drawers and looking across at him curiously. "What is it?"

"Where were you, this afternoon?"

Athos looked blank, then shrugged. "Around and about. Sorry, did I leave you to pick up too much of the work? I see Milady made her best efforts to work her way through the champagne cellar."

Porthos shook his head. "No, it's not that. Where were you when Rochefort was shot?"

Athos hesitated, then laughed. "Did you just ask me for my alibi?" Porthos didn't reply, just looked at him, and Athos frowned. "I don't know. In the kitchen I suppose."

"No you weren't. Aramis was in there, with Constance and Fleur. He didn't mention you."

"Then I must have been somewhere else. In the pantry, probably. Porthos, what is all this? What's going on?"

"Answer the question. Where were you? A man was shot Athos, it's the kind of thing you remember."

"A man shot himself, in a locked room," Athos corrected. "What are you implying exactly, that I shot him somehow?"

"Did you?"

Athos stared at him. "Porthos - " he took a deep breath. "What's happened? What's brought all this on?"

Porthos looked down at his hands. "I was upstairs when he was shot you see," he said quietly. "Outside Rochefort's room. And it's just - there was someone else there. In the corridor."

"Who?"

"That's just it, I don't know. I only got a glimpse. A man, definitely. I saw his trousers. Going into Lady Anne's room."

"Well, probably Aramis then," Athos said.

"That's what I thought." Porthos sighed. "Except - it wasn't. I asked him earlier, and he didn't have a clue what I was talking about."

"And you think Aramis is less likely to lie to you than me?" Athos asked. "Charming."

Porthos looked up at him, his eyes sad. "No. I don't. But technically you haven't, have you? You've been very careful not to lie to me. Very careful not to answer my questions at all."

Athos gave a brittle laugh. "What are you saying?"

"That it was you. It had to have been you. There was no one else it could have been."

"So what if it was? What does me being in Lady Anne's room have to do with anything? Or am I supposed to be having an affair with her as well now?" 

"No. Anne wasn't even there, she was downstairs."

"So what's your point?"

"Rochefort's window was open," Porthos said slowly. "I did notice that."

"Even Treville agreed nobody could have got in that way," Athos reminded him.

"No, Treville said nobody could have climbed up. And it was you, wasn't it, who added that nobody could have climbed down. But across? From the next room? There's a ledge, I checked. It wouldn't be easy. Especially in broad daylight. But not impossible, for someone with the right skills and a hell of a lot of nerve. Maybe, I don't know, from what you've said maybe Milady could have done it. But not in a full skirt."

"What are you saying?" Athos repeated softly.

Porthos shook his head violently. "I'm not saying anything, Athos. I'm waiting for you to tell me it's all horseshit. Yell at me, ask me what the fuck I'm thinking, tell me I'm wrong!" he blurted. "Please," he added, in much a smaller voice.

"I can't."

"What?" Porthos stared at him in shock, but he'd known, he'd known since he realised who it had to have been in there. He just hadn't wanted to believe it.

"I can't." Athos turned around and opened a drawer and for one heart-stopping moment Porthos thought he was going for a weapon of some kind, but Athos lifted out a whisky bottle and unscrewed the cap, pouring himself a generous measure and knocking it back in one before turning to look at Porthos again, empty glass held loosely in his fingers.

"You're right," Athos said tiredly. "It was me. Exactly as you say. I killed Rochefort."

"But - why?" Porthos asked, bewildered. "That's the bit I don't get. I mean, I know you couldn't stand the guy, but that's hardly grounds for murder." He pinched his lips together, not wanting to say the rest, but there was a horrid inevitability about it. "The only reason to kill Rochefort I can see, would be to convince everyone he'd killed Louis. Because he never admitted it, did he? You kept saying he had, as good as, but he never did, not in so many words. And that means - " he broke off, unable to continue, but Athos nodded heavily.

"That I killed Louis as well. Yes."

"But why? Athos why?" Porthos pleaded, desperate to understand how this man he had loved and admired could possibly do such a thing.

Athos stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, pouring himself another drink. He held the bottle out to Porthos, silently offering him one too, but Porthos shook his head.

Athos put the bottle back, and gazed into his glass. When he started to speak, his voice was resigned and emotionless.

"I told you, I think, that the rest of my unit were killed in the war?" He waited for Porthos to nod, and continued. "What I didn't tell you, was that the blast wasn't a result of enemy action. It was a failure of our own equipment. The timer, the fuse - I don't know. All I know is I woke up three days later in hospital, to discover that while the explosion had taken out the bridge as planned, it had also taken out the other three members of my team."

Athos took a drink, marshalling his thoughts. "At first, I couldn't believe it. Not that they were dead, but that they'd left me behind. For the longest time, all I wanted was to join them. At first I put it down to simple bad luck. Fate, whatever you like. But then I started hearing things. Reports of other failures, other people killed and wounded by their own equipment. Premature detonations, guns that jammed or exploded in their owner's face. So I started to investigate. It wasn't like I was good for anything else. I could barely even walk at first." He poked his leg resentfully. 

"What I found - it was far in excess of what I'd expected. Much higher rates of failure than were statistically probable. So I kept looking. And what I found - it was almost all traceable back to one single factory." 

Athos swallowed more whisky, shook his head. "I wasn't going to go on a vendetta against some poor assembly line worker. But I asked around, found people that had worked there, even broke in and examined the books. What I was finding, was a picture of cuts and shortcuts and skimping. Cheap materials, shortened deadlines, barely any quality checks." He looked up at Porthos for the first time since he'd started talking. "You can guess, I assume, who owned the factory?"

"Louis?" Porthos said hoarsely. Athos nodded.

"That's why I took the job here. To get close enough to keep digging. Louis kept his more sensitive papers here, but even so a lot of them were in the bank. He only brought them out occasionally. It took me rather longer to find what I wanted than I was expecting." Athos gave a rueful twist of the lips, and drained his glass. "And I did find it. Proof, not just that Louis was cutting costs and quality, but that he knew. He knew what was happening out there, that men were dying because of his shoddy goods. And _he did nothing._ "

"But - murder?" Porthos stuttered. "Why not go to the police with what you'd discovered?"

Athos snorted. "He'd been _decorated_ , for services to the war effort. It would have been far too embarrassing for the establishment to admit he'd been responsible for countess deaths of our own men. If I'd made waves, it's far more likely that it would have been me who quietly disappeared one night. No, there could be no justice for them through the courts. The only thing left to me was revenge."

Porthos stared at him miserably. "But still - murder? You said it yourself, people die in wartime. Why - oh. Oh, no." The penny finally dropped, and Porthos cursed himself for not having realised it before. "Julien. He was one of your team."

"Yes." Athos nodded, fiddling with the glass in his hands. "And my brother, Thomas, was another."

"Oh God."

Athos gave him a sad smile. "Julien and I met at university. He, Thomas and I all enlisted together. We met Frank during our first week in basic training. We became friends, the four of us. Tight as you please. The authorities noticed that too, and made good use of it. Recruited us together, trained us together, for more covert operations. We were inseparable." 

Athos realised his hands were shaking, and set the glass down with a click. "And then, in a single second, I lost my whole world. Because some titled _bastard_ with more money than he knew what to do with, was determined to save a few pounds on his production budget."

Porthos shook his head. "Okay. Louis I get. But why Rochefort?"

There was a pause before Athos answered. "When I started all this, I didn't care what happened to me, afterwards," he confessed. "I assumed they would hang me, and I didn't much care. I would finally be with the others, and that was all I wanted." He paused again, gave Porthos a look of tired guilt. "But then I met you," he breathed. "And for the first time in a long while, I didn't want to die any more. God forgive me, I started to wonder if I could get away with it."

Porthos was on his feet now. "Oh no. No, you're not putting this on me," he said in alarm, and Athos shook his head urgently.

"No - no, of course not. I didn't mean that. No blame can possibly attach to you, it's all mine. All my fault."

"This is why you were angry with me for not telling you about Aramis," Porthos realised. "You didn't think anyone else would be in the frame for it."

Athos nodded wearily. "I tried to steer him away from incriminating himself as best I could," he admitted. "I wouldn't have let him hang for it."

Porthos was realising other things now, and each one came with a new wave of horror.

"You used me," he said, voice low and shaking. "You used me for an alibi."

"No. No!" Athos looked stricken. "I didn't!"

"I _lied_ for you!"

"I didn't ask you to!"

"Oh, I'm supposed to believe that am I?" Porthos asked miserably. "You manipulated me. You - Christ, that was the night you told me you loved me. You _slept_ with me, Athos, what was that, an hour after you killed him? Oh my _God_. How could you?"

Athos looked utterly bereft. "I didn't know if I'd been careful enough," he admitted. "I thought I might be arrested the next day. I didn't want to be taken away without being with you at least once. Without telling you how I felt."

"How you felt? Athos, you've killed two men. How do you think they felt?"

"I've killed a lot of men in my life Porthos. Few deserved it quite as much as those two." 

Porthos took a physical step back. "Louis, maybe - although arguably not. Rochefort? Not even close."

"Find me one person who mourns his passing," Athos said bitterly, and Porthos just stared.

"Well I imagine he wasn't too thrilled with it. Who made you God, Athos?"

"Nobody made me God." Athos sank down on the bed, as if too exhausted to stand any longer. "But the British government made me an executioner. They taught me to kill, efficiently, and without remorse. That's not the kind of thing you can turn off, just because the war is over."

"Jesus," Porthos said softly. "All that business with the cards and the glasses. You set that up."

"Yes," Athos admitted. "I brought them up from the library, made it look like Louis had been alone in there with Rochefort after the others left."

"The gloves," Porthos blurted. "Everyone thought it was Milady because there were no other fingerprints." Looking at the pair of white butler's gloves that were even now hanging out of Athos' pocket. He was so used to seeing him wear them for handling the silverware they just seemed like a part of him.

Athos nodded, a little sheepishly. 

"You lied to me," Porthos whispered. "You lied to me and you used me from the start."

"No. No, Porthos, I never did!" 

"Well you sure as shit didn't tell me the truth!" Porthos realised he was shouting and lowered his voice, although Aramis was with Anne and d'Artagnan, as far as he knew, was with Constance. The world was falling to pieces, he thought. Then, _no, just mine._

"Will you go to Treville?" Athos asked numbly. 

Porthos blinked. To go to the police with this - it honestly hadn't even occurred to him. "What happens if I say yes?" he demanded roughly. "Will I be the next one to mysteriously shoot himself?"

Athos looked up, horrified. "No! Porthos, you can't imagine I would ever hurt you!" He hung his head again. "No. If you decide to turn me in, I will not contest it. I will admit everything. My life is in your hands."

Porthos pressed his lips together against the fear they wanted to tremble. "I won't tell him," he said finally. Athos looked up again, with a spark of hope in his eyes.

"Forgive me?" he begged. "Please. I never meant to hurt you." 

"Forgive you! Athos I don't even know you. You're not the man I thought you were." Porthos backed towards the door, swallowing down the pain in his heart. "I won't give you away, but - forgive you? I don't know if I can. I don't even know if I want to." He turned, fumbling for the door handle and stumbling out into the passage, eyes stinging and his vision blurring as he groped his way towards his own room.

Behind him Athos collapsed sideways onto the bed, his own face already wet with silent tears.

\--

Porthos passed a miserable night, lying alone in his bed and going over and over everything in his mind. He found it hard to comprehend what Athos had done, unable to reconcile the man he thought he knew with a cold blooded killer, regardless of what Athos had previously told him about himself. 

The more he went over the events of the last few days, the more sick he felt. He realised Athos had insisted all the way through that he could have done it, had even told them how. All this though was nothing compared to the thought that Porthos had potentially lost the best thing he'd ever had - if he'd ever really had it at all. Had Athos ever actually loved him, or had it all been lies? Had he really just used him for an alibi - or for sex? 

What would happen now? Surely Athos wouldn't stay on? The thought of losing him altogether was another blow, and Porthos tossed and turned fretfully, eventually falling into a fitful sleep some time before dawn. 

Waking the next morning, he felt clearer. Regardless of what Athos had done, he found that the prospect of life without him was more unbearable, and if Athos truly returned his feelings, then everything else was solvable. He would have it out with him, and hope for the best. And if Athos confessed that it had only ever been lies, then Porthos would gather the shreds of his dignity and his broken heart, and move on. The thought occurred to him that with Louis dead it was Athos he would need to ask for a reference, but presumably keeping his mouth shut about a double murder was a more than fair exchange for that.

He washed and dressed, and knocked quietly on the door of Athos' room. There was no answer, and sticking his head cautiously inside revealed it to be empty. Porthos went downstairs, finding Constance and d’Artagnan in the kitchen.

"Morning Porthos," Constance smiled. "It'll be a strange day, I think."

"You can say that again," Porthos muttered, accepting the cup of tea she passed him with a grateful smile.

D'Artagnan jabbed his porridge spoon at Porthos interrogatively. "Does this mean we all work for Aramis now? Because if so, I have questions."

Constance gave him a fond slap round the back of the head. "Shut up and eat your breakfast," she told him. "Be grateful you've still got a job at all. And that it‘s not Rochefort you‘re working for." 

Porthos grinned at him commiseratingly, grateful for the sense of normality they both offered. Constance was loading up a tray, and looked hopefully over at him. 

"I don't suppose you'd take this up to Anne and Aramis in the breakfast room would you? Athos took them up some coffee earlier but he's not come back and I don't know where he's gone."

"Yes, of course." Porthos took up the heavy tray and made his way up through the house. As he entered the breakfast room Aramis gave him a rather embarrassed smile that turned to one of relief when Porthos winked at him.

"Thank you Porthos." Anne smiled sweetly at him. "I do hope you'll forgive us for being so terribly blatant about all this. I don't want people to think badly of us." 

Aramis reached over and squeezed her hand, and Porthos smiled at them both. "I'm just glad to see people happy to be honest," he said. He realised suddenly that this was a good thing after all, that if they hadn't had each other, Athos' actions would have left Anne friendless and alone. 

"You'll stay on, won't you Porthos?" Anne asked him hopefully, and he found himself nodding.

"Yes, of course." He set out the breakfast dishes and left the tray on the sideboard. "Will that be all?"

"Yes thank you," Anne said, and Aramis nodded awkwardly. Porthos smirked at him. He had a feeling Aramis felt more uncomfortable about this state of affairs than anyone else.

Leaving them to their breakfast, he went in search of Athos. Enquiries in the kitchen revealed he hadn't returned there, and Fleur coming down from making Anne's bed hadn't seen him either. Puzzled, Porthos wandered through the house. He wasn't in the study, the library, or any of the guest rooms. Wondering if he'd returned to his own room for some reason, Porthos went back up to the top floor.

There was still no reply to his knock, and opening the door revealed Athos' room was still empty. Porthos was about to leave again, wondering if Athos had been taken ill and was perhaps locked in a bathroom somewhere, when he suddenly stopped short. Athos' room looked _too_ empty. It was spartan at the best of times, but looking around now it seemed even barer than usual. Athos' scattering of personal possessions had been cleared away. 

Seized by a sudden fear Porthos stepped right into the room and yanked open the wardrobe. It was empty. He pulled open the drawers, one after another, and all of them were bare. Porthos felt dizzy, finally taking in what it meant. Athos had gone.

He stumbled back down the stairs and burst into the breakfast room, making Anne jump.

"Porthos! Everything alright?" Aramis asked, startled.

"Where's Athos?"

"Athos?" Aramis looked surprised. "He's gone."

"What?" Porthos stared at him. "What do you mean, gone?"

"He handed in his notice," Anne explained. "Said he was sorry but he felt he couldn't stay here after everything that had happened. That he felt responsible. We told him that was silly of course, but he wouldn't be swayed. Asked if he could be permitted to leave without working a notice period. Of course we said yes."

Porthos remembered her words earlier that morning. 'You'll stay on, won't you?' _You'll_ stay on? Meaning Athos had already gone.

"When did he go?" Porthos asked hoarsely.

"Must be about an hour ago now," Aramis said, then frowned. "Hang on, do you mean to say he didn't tell you? That he didn't even say goodbye?"

His words fell on empty air. Porthos had turned and run from the room.

About five minutes later, their conversation was interrupted by the roar of an engine, and they looked out of the window in astonishment to see the Hispano-Suiza sweep past and down the drive, with Porthos at the wheel.

Anne gave Aramis wide eyes. "I guess he really _didn't_ say goodbye."

\--

Past the gates, Porthos accelerated down the narrow lanes. He realised he didn't actually know where Athos was headed, but was gambling on him making for the station. On foot, Porthos knew from his own arrival here that it would take the best part of an hour to make the journey between house and town, so hoped against hope that he would be able to catch him. If Athos had had time to get on a train, Porthos was under no illusions that he'd ever be able to find him again.

In contrast to the bright conditions when Porthos had driven Louis into town at such a rate, today the sky was heavy with threatened rain and the roads were greasy. He drove as fast as he dared, battling to stay in control and acknowledging with a certain amount of black humour that it would be counter productive to catch up with Athos only to run him over.

As he screeched to a halt in front of the station the rain was starting to come down in earnest, and he wished he'd taken a few seconds to collect his coat. Raindrops soaking into his clothes Porthos dashed up to the entrance, only to become embroiled in an argument with a ticket collector who refused to let him through without paying the requisite penny for a platform ticket. 

Having come out without any money Porthos was on the brink of punching him and vaulting the barrier when a second desperate search of his pockets revealed a single coin. Thankfully he handed it over and barged through the turnstile, just as a London-bound train was pulling in.

Porthos fought his way up the platform, jostling through the crowds of people alighting and those waiting to get on as he searched desperately for Athos. It didn't help that the rain meant most people were wearing hats and scarves and had their collars turned up, and more than one man shouted at him in consternation as Porthos yanked them round to stare into their faces.

Finally, having run nearly the full length of the platform, Porthos spotted him. Apparently having taken the time to help an elderly lady out of a carriage first, Athos was preparing to lift his own bags inside and looked round in alarm when Porthos yelled his name.

"Athos." Porthos arrived panting in front of him, and for a second was too out of breath to say anything else. To his relief Athos waited patiently for him to get his breath back, looking wary.

"Where are you going?" Porthos managed finally, and Athos shook his head.

"I don't know. Away from here. What do you want?"

"But you can't just - walk out," Porthos protested. 

Athos looked taken aback. "You can hardly want me to stay?"

Porthos had gathered himself now and set his shoulders, giving Athos a level stare. "I need to know," he said. "I need to know if it was all just lies. If you were just using me Athos, if all you ever wanted was an alibi - tell me. Tell me to my face. And I'll help you put those bags on the train myself. But if it wasn't - if you meant it - any of it - Athos, if you love me - don't go. Please don't go." His voice cracked on the last words, and Porthos felt his face crumple as he tried to swallow down the lump in his throat.

For a long moment Athos just stared at him, looking almost bewildered, as if he couldn't take in what Porthos was saying. All around them was the slamming of carriage doors as the train prepared to depart, and puffs of steam were rolling through the rain, obscuring the other disembarking passengers.

A dark shape suddenly loomed out of the clouds and resolved into a train guard. 

"Are you travelling sir?" he asked Athos, looking from the bags at his feet up to the train, unsure if he was leaving or had just arrived. 

Athos looked from the guard back to Porthos, taking in his pleading expression, and made a decision.

"No. No, I'm not travelling," Athos said, his eyes fixed on Porthos.

"Move back then sirs please, move back. Train's ready to depart."

They shuffled obediently away from the platform edge, still not taking their eyes off each other, but it wasn't until the guard blew his whistle and the train responded in a shriek of steam and started heaving itself out of the station that Porthos truly let himself take in that Athos had chosen to stay.

"Athos," he choked, and as another cloud of steam hid them from view they fell into each other's arms, holding each other fiercely tight. "I love you," Porthos said, voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too," Athos promised indistinctly, his face buried in Porthos' neck. "I meant everything I said to you, I swear."

Reluctantly they pulled apart again. They weren't the only ones who'd been embracing, but as the train disappeared into the distance and the platform emptied of people they were becoming too conspicuous.

"Let's go somewhere more private," Porthos muttered, and Athos nodded. They picked up a bag each and Athos followed him out of the station, raising an eyebrow when he saw the car, but saying nothing. 

They stowed the bags on the back seat and climbed into the front, glad to be out of the rain and in a reasonably concealed place. The rain was pouring down the windows which were rapidly fogging over, and the forecourt was deserted. 

Porthos couldn't bear it any longer, he pulled Athos forward on the bench seat and kissed him hard on the mouth. Athos returned the kiss with equal fervour, and for a long while they clung to each other in the blessed steamed up privacy of the car.

Eventually Athos moved back, and took a shuddering breath. "Did you mean it?" he asked in a low voice, "what you said? Do you forgive me then?"

Porthos took his hand and looked at him soberly. "I can't condone what you did," he said quietly. "But I understand why you did it. So yeah, I forgive you. I love you Athos."

Athos seemed to sag as the tension went out of him, finally accepting that this was true, that Porthos really meant it. "I love you too," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. What I did - I should have stopped. I should have let it go. But I'd been on the same course for so long, I thought it was all that was keeping me going." He squeezed Porthos' hand, and gave him a watery smile. "I was wrong."

"Why'd you run off like this?" Porthos asked him. Now it was safe to do so he was thinking about just how close he'd come to losing Athos forever, and it made him feel cold to the bone.

"The way you looked at me last night - I couldn't face going through that again," Athos admitted. "I couldn't stand to hear you telling me you didn't want me any more. I thought this was the best way, for both of us."

"I'm sorry if I was unkind to you," Porthos told him. "It was just a lot for me to take in."

Athos nodded, still looking a little wary. "You can really forgive me?" he pressed.

"I promise." Porthos shuffled closer on the seat and put his arm around him. "Just one condition. No more killing people, okay?" he said, only half joking.

Athos gave a breathy laugh. "You have my word." He leaned into Porthos' arms gratefully and they held each other.

"So." Porthos realised he had no clue where to go from here. He'd found Athos in time to stop him leaving, but that was as far as he'd thought. He wasn't sure they could exactly go back to their old lives. "Now what?"

Athos sighed. "I can't stay here," he admitted, looking up at Porthos a little anxiously. Porthos just nodded.

"Then I'll come with you," he said. "Wherever you want to go." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm probably fired anyway. I didn't exactly ask if I could borrow this."

Athos laughed quietly. "And you started out as such an upstanding citizen."

Porthos kissed him again, then pulled away with a considerable effort. "Soon as I get you somewhere private that locks, I'll show you just how upstanding you make me," he growled. "In the meantime, I suggest we go and pick up my things." 

\--

Back at the house, Aramis and Anne came to the front door as the car crunched up the drive, and Porthos climbed out to face the music. To his relief, he found they were both smiling.

"You found him then," Aramis observed. Athos had got out too and come to stand next to Porthos, looking embarrassed.

"Yeah." Porthos couldn't help grinning with relief, and Aramis nodded.

"Good," he said, with quiet sincerity. Porthos looked at him in surprise, then gave him a grateful smile.

"Um. Thing is, I'm going to have to ask you to accept my resignation as well," Porthos said. "I'm going with him, you see."

Aramis nodded. "I kind've guessed you would be."

Anne stepped forward then, and looked at Aramis for encouragement before addressing them. "I've made a decision," she said. "I would like you - both of you - to have the car. As a gift."

"Really?" Porthos stared at her. "My lady - we couldn't possibly - "

"Of course you could," Anne replied briskly. "Keep it, sell it, I don't care. I've never really liked travelling in it. I only really have to go into town, I've decided I'm going to go back to the pony and trap. D'Artagnan's going to be my head coachman." She smiled. "I hear he could do with the extra money."

Athos and Porthos exchanged a look of pleased surprise. 

"Thank you," Athos said, and Porthos nodded vigorously. 

Aramis took Anne's hand and nodded to them. "I want you to know you'll always be welcome here. Both of you. Any time," he said sincerely.

While Porthos went to pack his things, Athos hung around in the entrance hall out of the rain. He'd been there a while when Constance appeared, and when she saw him standing there she squealed and ran across.

"Athos! They said you'd left us!"

He gave her an embarrassed smile. "Would I leave without saying goodbye?" he murmured, and to his surprise she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him.

"I wish you'd stay."

"I can't," he sighed. "I'm sorry. And, er - well, you may as well know - Porthos is coming with me," Athos added awkwardly, knowing how it would look after Richelieu's denunciation of them. Constance though, was unperturbed.

"Of course he is."

Athos looked surprised, and Constance blushed a little. "You didn't judge me for my little slip up," she muttered, rubbing a hand instinctively over her belly. "Hardly about to criticise your choices."

"Thank you," Athos said warmly, and on impulse hugged her back.

"You will come back for the wedding won't you?" Constance pressed, and when Athos hesitated she looked stern. "You promised to give me away remember!"

"I did, didn't I," Athos sighed, then smiled. "Yes, alright. If we can. I promise we'll try and get there."

"Do better then try!" she instructed him severely, then laughed. "Are you happy, Athos?" 

Athos looked up to see Porthos coming towards them with his kit bag over his shoulder, and nodded slowly. "Yes. Do you know what, I am."

When Constance had said her goodbyes to both of them, and extracted further promises that they would both make the wedding and have a proper send off with everyone there, they walked out to the car and packed Porthos' bag in with the rest. 

At the end of the driveway, they looked at each other. 

"So. Where to?" Porthos asked. 

"Actually, I have no idea," Athos laughed. 

"How about Belgium?" Porthos suggested quietly. For a second Athos looked startled, then shook his head slowly. 

"No. Thank you, for thinking of it, but no. The past is the past." He leaned back and looked at Porthos with the softest expression Porthos had ever seen on him. "My future is here. Is you. It's because of you that I have one at all. That I _want_ one."

Throwing caution to the winds, Porthos leaned over and kissed him. "And you're mine," Porthos said, his voice suspiciously scratchy. "And if you don't stop making me tear up I'm going to throw you in the back and spank you."

Athos gave a surprised laugh, and smiled at him. "I think we've bothered the local constabulary enough lately, don't you? Why don't we make for London? We can decide where to go from there."

"London it is." Above them, the rain had stopped, and the sun was trying to come out. Porthos put the car into gear, and headed away from the manor at a sedate speed. 

\--


End file.
